


Everything I Couldn't Tell You

by isisyaoi



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Boy's Love, Character Death, Complete, Dark Romance, Drama, HEA, Heartache, Horror, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2020-09-25 03:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20370100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isisyaoi/pseuds/isisyaoi
Summary: After his engagement to Yuuri is annulled, Wolfram is wooed by the charming and seductive lord Prince of Irrison. Wolfram falls in love with his new betrothed--living in Irrison's castle and flaunted with all the love and attention he'd always wanted in a true fiancée, but lord Prince of Irrison is a very possessive man who'd do anything to keep Wolfram forever. And when Wolfram finds out Irrison's dark secret, he becomes trapped and locked away with no way of communicating to his family or Yuuri.Will the maou's suspicions lead Yuuri to Wolfram and rescue the blonde mazoku prince before it's too late for either of them?  Let's read and find out, shall we?





	1. A Letter from the Author

A Letter from the Author

To all those who don’t care, 

Long ago I drew a KKM yaoi doujinshi and was inspired to WRITE it in order to share it here, because I’m too timid to upload drawings to the public. I am an avid fan of Kyo Kara Maou! YuurixWolfram. I always longed to create a dark-theme romance filled with obsession, jealousy, Wolfram’s new love, Yuuri seeing the light in his true feelings for Wolfram, some good explicit action—all the good stuff! Fortunately, this story will have a HEA for Yuuri and Wolfram in the end. I will incorporate some historical romance, physiological horror, along with food. 

Yes, food!

My favorite scenes in any novel are when the author describes the fictional characters eating food. Food is the one major thing all fanfiction stories lack. Even fictional characters need some type of sustenance!  
I love food and I love it even more when describing it and weaving it in writing. And food is what I will incorporate here. 

Writing isn’t about making money, or wanting fame, it’s about inspiring others and those who read your work. Writing makes me happy, and that, in itself, is rewarding enough. 

~isisyaoi

Warnings: This is my first KKM fanfic and a Work in Progress—my stories write themselves, so I personally don’t know what will happen next either! This work of fiction is by a fan for the fans!


	2. Chapter One: The Last Time

Chapter One: The Last Time

Wolfram cupped his hand around his flickering candle and had removed his night slippers to avoid any sound while he padded softly across the castle hallway, only to stop in front of Yuuri’s royal chambers.  
Yuuri had insisted months before on separate rooms. He’d been so persistent that although Wolfram didn’t like it, had accepted it, if only to pacify his king. If only Wolfram could’ve known Yuuri’s true purpose then, he would never had agreed to it…

With pale hands grasping the door’s cold metal latch, Wolfram paused to smell the sweet, cool night air, hoping to ease the pulsing beat of his heart. He knew his courage would dwindle if he thought of it too much, so he steeled himself and with a soft click, lifted the latch open.

Yuuri’s room was dark, but he could still see the outline of the bedroom due to the light of the pale moon on the tall glass windows. Wolfram stood silent for a moment, listening to hear if Yuuri was still asleep. He looked toward the bed and saw no movement. 

Good. 

Wolfram walked toward the bed; stood over the Maou and slowly lifted the candle to see the face of his soon-to-be fiancée. Yuuri looked very handsome in sleep. He lay on his back, legs and arms spread, the blanket pulled only to his waist, leaving his chest bare to Wolfram’s eyes. 

It wasn’t as though Wolfram didn’t know how two men made love and he was certain Yuuri, now a grown man of twenty, didn’t know either. 

Wolfram leaned down and breathed in the smell of all that was Yuuri. A smell that was all too familiar to him. In their careless youth, both boys took it for granted, but as the years transcended, Yuuri’s smell had grown to heat a different emotion inside Wolfram that he could no longer resist.

The scent of male.

Wolfram reached out his hand—if he touched Yuuri where would he start? What would he do then?

A soft snore startled Wolfram. Yuuri’s head tossed lightly on the pillow, his hands twitching open and closed. Had Yuuri sensed him, somehow?

Wolfram placed the candle on the bedside table with a small clicking sound. He then lifted the gown of his pink nightie up to his waist and carefully climbed on top of Yuuri on the bed.

Yuuri’s eyes flew open. His face contorted with panic only for a moment, then he sighed and breathed gently, calm again once he felt the warm body on his lap and looked upon the beautiful familiar twin jades of Wolfram’s eyes.  
“You shouldn’t be here.”

Hearing the adult male voice echo in the large expanse of the room made Wolfram’s heartbeat with such vigor, Wolfram felt sure Yuuri could hear the pounding of it. Yuuri’s hands laid lazily on Wolfram’s bare knees, the warmth there almost unbearable and so arousing…

Yuuri truly awoke as soft hands slowly began to stroke his flat toned belly. “Wolfram, you must stop. You shouldn’t be here.” The hands slid dangerously lower, Yuuri lurched up, grabbing Wolfram’s hands as soon as they grazed his quickly bulging crotch. “Wolfram, go back to your chambers.” 

“I came to change your mind.” Wolfram leaned forward, kissed Yuuri, then straightened up fast as Yuuri jerked up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Yuuri?”

The light of the candle glowed a soft ember and Yuuri turned to look at Wolfram’s face. His green eyes bright, skin flushed pink, golden locks spilling about his face and bare shoulders. Yuuri realized then that they were both hard.

That wasn’t good.

“Yuuri, do you really intent on giving me away to someone else?”

Chin tilting upwards to face the ceiling, Yuuri inhaled sharply. His eyes closing shut if only to darken the beautiful image of Wolfram so close beside him. And it would be the last time, too. On the morrow, Wolfram would go to live in his new fiancée’s castle. Yuuri couldn’t risk revoking a contract that was well agreed upon a mutual peace between Shin Makoku and the Kingdom of Irrison. 

And Wolfram von Bielfield was the key. The claim. The prize. 

“It’s for the best, Wolf, for both of us.”

The heartbeat sound came again—clear and unmistakable—only this time it beat to the rhythm of stinging heartache. 

Wolfram’s fist wrinkled the corners of his nightie, wetness pooling his glazed eyes, lips biting shut for fear if he spoke the sound of his voice would show proof of his anguish. So he kept his rebuttal short and to the point.  
“You mean best for YOU.”

Yuuri shuddered, cold now, a sharp inverse to the warmth he felt earlier when Wolfram’s body sat heavily on his. 

The tears came to his eyes, then, and spilled slowly down Yuuri’s cheeks. Never again would Wolfram question his fealty, his devotion. If ever in all these years had Yuuri harbored any love toward Wolfram, he never voiced it and he was certain he never would. 

Wolfram deserved someone who did, Yuuri thought, knowing he’d been a fool to have let this accidental engagement last for so long. It only led Wolfram to chase a shadow of false hope and fed Yuuri’s tempered guilt on his final solution to end it.

A soft click forced Yuuri’s eyes to blink open. He only caught a glimpse of gold curls as Wolfram left his cold, royal chamber, shutting the heavy wooden door quietly behind him.

~*~

He was going to wed a complete stranger and there was no escaping it. No road out of it. Wolfram wanted to shout his veto to every corner of Shin Makoku, though he knew anyone would hardly care. 

Wolfram wore one of his best tailored uniforms, royal blue with trimmed gold accents on its sleeves and waist coat and white silk blouse. His boots freshly polished, his white neck lace carefully tied and fluffed in place. He always prided himself in his presentation, no matter what occasion presented itself and this was no exception. He refused to show any kind of vulnerability by showing up in poorly dressed clothes. 

There was no choice but to marry the man, Wolfram reasoned, he understood that. Still, the reality—the cruelty—of it all left him shaken. He had thought bedding Yuuri would prove to the King the wonders and promise of what Wolfram had to offer his future husband, and thus hope Yuuri would object to this absurdity. 

Mayhap, it was all in vain. 

Wolfram’s stomach gave a fierce growl. He had refused breakfast with the royal family certain his feelings would betray him if he saw the faces of his most cherished people he was forced to leave behind. A soft knock on his door alerted Wolfram out of his thoughts. Murata’s head bowed respectfully as he entered the room. His face free of any emotion he may other times had surely shown.

“Lord Wolfram,” he said softly. “The escorts from Irrison are here.”

“Thank you.”

The Mazoku prince reached for his cloak and without another word let Murata lead him outside to the waiting carriage. Wolfram stomped down the castle stairs, his quiet demeanor drawing attention of the staff and soldiers. Glaring at them, they quickly looked away. No doubt the announcement of his annulment had long been told among the staff in chattered whispered rumors.

No matter.

Stopping short just outside the castle’s stone entrance, his family, daughter, and Yuuri had all lined up to witness his departure. This only added bitter salt to Wolfram’s wounded…everything. He looked up at the sky, gray scattered clouds rumbling in whisper of coming rain. It seemed even the heavens were preparing to weep to what had already become a very gloomy day. 

An old, cloaked demon Wolfram assumed to have come with the strange and hooded escort next to him, spread open an official-looking parchment and Yuuri’s affidavit was read as such:

“As of this most glorious day, King Yuuri, 27th Maou of Shin Makoku, hereby issue legally, consciously and willingly consents to the permanent annulment of his prior three-year engagement to Prince Wolfram von Bielfield, third and youngest son of Cecile von Spitzweig. Offering a mutual peace contract, fair trading of monetary goods between both parties, by exchanging his fiancée to wed Lord Prince Irrison, 1st lord of Irrison, Alan Alberic Irrison.”

Announcement concluded, Wolfram pulled the hood over his head, swift enough to conceal the contorted emotions his face would surely have shown. The footman had outstretched his hand, the prince ignored it, quickly stepping into the creaking carriage as the door shut behind him. It was a Regency style carriage and as Wolfram settled himself inside, he noticed the obviously expensive furnishings in it. Clearly this Alan Alberic of Irrison wished to flaunt his wealth. 

Swiftly riding through the castle gates, the horses panted and trotted their hooves on the muddy puddles of dirt road as the rain finally took over.


	3. Chapter Two: Journey to the Land of Irrison

Chapter Two: Journey to the Land of Irrison

September had degenerated into a rainy October it seemed, turning the roads of Shin Makoku to sucking mud. The dry heat of it was uncomfortable in the small well-padded carriage built to accommodate one or two passengers.  
Outside the wind increased in the trees overhanging the roads, the heavy branches creaking as twigs and bark mix with rain splintered below the tumbling wheels. 

Wolfram loosened the cloak about him, reaching for a small water jug in a weaved clothed basket that seemed to have been purposely placed, specifically for the long ride to the kingdom of Irrison. Although Wolfram was grateful for the food and other small rations in it, water was more essential to his already parched tongue. He tried not to wonder about his new life up ahead as he fingered the small “mp3 player” in his pocket. A memento of his youth that he shared with Yuuri on one of the trips he took to Earth. A gift the black-haired boy gave him as a sign of their friendship. 

Lord Prince of Irrison had stated for Wolfram to bring as little personal valuables and essentials as possible with the promise he would provide anything Wolfram would ever need or desire to his heart’s content. 

There was a passion behind those words that made Wolfram wish he could believe him. Unthinkable as it was to him, did Yuuri really thought it best for Wolfram to marry this stranger, no matter the personal sacrifice, for both their happiness? In a more logical state of mind, Wolfram could see the advantage in this agreement, but still, it didn’t seem fai—

Ooh, never mind.

His brain began to burn as all sorts of thoughts poured in, and his melancholic rage along with it. Pulling out white, thin pair of earpieces, he turned on the earthly device and leaned back as music filled his ears. The small trinket had quickly become his only consolation during his times of much needed emotional comfort. 

Sighing, he closed his eyes.

The side swaying of the carriage, the pitter patter of rain outside, and the low calm music lulled the emotionally exhausted Mazoku in a deep welcoming slumber.

~*~

The two escorts were drenched, famished and battling sleep as the coach peered through the dark, misty road that lay ahead. Guided only by one small oil lamp, he thanked his lucky stars the rain ceased only short hours before it started. He and the four horse beasts had worked together all night and just as the familiarity of the land came into view, he picked up the reins. 

“Ha!” he said, alert now, and ready to be home at last.

~*~

Wolfram woke with a start. 

Shimmering rays of orange prickled his sleep induced eyes. He blinked toward it, moving aside the purple velvet drapes of the window to gaze at the horizon. 

The opulent glow of morning spread over a vast greenery of low set hills with abundant forestry lining its edges of the countryside in the distance—excellent for horse-back riding. Fat sheep, goat and cattle grazed amok, their milk would surely produce rich thick cream and cheese. Piles of freshly cut wood and mounds of hay scattered neatly in abundance, perfect for the coming winter. 

As in most castle villages the huts surrounding the land, although not many, were constructed of wattle and daub, the roofs thatched. Geese and chicken pecked about in yards, and small patches of individual gardens passed by. The main dirt road leading toward the castle was enclosed with short stone fences. 

Bright warm rays touched Wolfram’s face. Dawn had come in a melodic silence only his soul could hear. A fresh new beginning hopes of new possibilities and the sweet beauty of a land he knew he’ll have every right to explore soon.

Wolfram’s pulse quickened at the nearness of a castle in the distance as he chewed on a hunk of cold wheat-loaf. 

“Is this all property of Lord Irrison?” he inquired, leaning only slightly out the carriage window.

“Aye, Your Highness,” the hooded escort shouted amongst the rumble of wheels hitting pebbles and mud puddles. The coach lifted the reins, horses steadying their pace lightly. “Don’t look like much ‘coz of the lousy rain,” he added. “But it’s home.” 

Swallowing a mouthful of water and a hunk of cheese, Wolfram fitfully began to straighten his wrinkled cloak about him. Shinou, please let the lord not be wakeful at this hour and see me in this rugged state of attire! He refused to show any form of lethargy by presenting himself in a squalid appearance. 

Nay.

He was going to face both his predicament and his new fiancée with head held high, completely closing out his storm of lugubrious feelings that filled his heart earlier yesterday. He hadn’t allowed himself to cry, for he knew puffy, sullen eyes would be obvious he’d been distressed. And Wolfram didn’t wish to be judged on first impressions for that reason. 

The crown of the landscape came into perfect view, the fortress of Irrison was a fine castle, indeed. It looked to be just shy of two-hundred years of age, gray solid squared rock built sturdy onto its walls, complete with wood and iron drawbridge and four high stone towers. It stood there as if conjured from the storybooks Yuuri would often use to read to Greta when she was a child. 

Wolfram felt an odd surge of satisfaction as he gazed upon the towering fortress that would be his to call home soon. 

Inside the castle’s inner bailey several old folks stopped their morning duties about the inner keep as they became aware of the regal carriage, turning to stare. Slowly dismounting the carriage Wolfram acknowledged the staff’s bows and curtsies with nods, as more folk appeared from corners and stables to look upon lord Prince Irrison’s bride-to-be. 

But where was lord Irrison? Surely, he’d be eagerly awaiting his fiancée’s arrival.

He’d only begun walking cautiously toward the entry of the castle, when a warm-eyed woman stood just above the stair steps. She was slightly plump, dressed in a maid’s uniform complete with apron and a light wool shawl over her shoulders. Light patches of grey flecked her once auburn hair, that was tied neatly in a bun, and looked to be in her late forties. She curtsied and said, “Goodness how young you are, your Highness! Good morning, I am called Miggins and I was Lady Anne’s personal servant.” 

“Lady Anne?”

“Lord Irrison’s grandmother, heiress to all of Irrison’s lands gifted to him upon her death bed.” The woman bowed her head, her smile never fading. “Please, come along, I will show you to your chambers.”

Wolfram hesitated, once again conscious of his traveling attire, all smothered about. Noticing this, the woman gave him a warm chuckle. 

“Do not worry, young sir, his lordship is not here, and he sends his apologies for not being present on this most important day.”

Relieved, if only a little, Wolfram let her lead him and once inside the large bed chamber, marveled at the intricate details inside. A servant had hauled the few trunks and suitcase of his personal belongings and were neatly placed by the foot of the bed. A pewter flagon of water and a gold goblet sat on a heavy oak table in the middle of the room, along with a large wooden dresser and mirror. 

Wolfram would soon have to make this chamber his own…

“Place faith in me, is all I ask.” The woman Miggins turned to exit. “Once you have settled and have rested, I shall have someone bring up breakfast.” She shut the door gently. 

Sighing, Wolfram glanced about briefly before deciding on more urgent matters. He disrobed and marched toward two double oak doors on the opposite side of the room, to what he assumed to be the baths. After his private breakfast, Wolfram couldn’t help a full day of sleep, to what he hoped would be understandable after his long and tedious journey.

~*~

The next evening, Wolfram struggled not to gape at the wealth evident in yet another room, as he’d caught himself doing several times during the tour of Irrison’s castle. Miggins was a most humble sort of lady, radiating the confidence of a caring mother. Taking her time showing Wolfram around the estate, spouting short history on a remodeled room or ancient painting, and helping him get his baring’s around the labyrinth of hallways. 

“You’ll soon know your way about, I’m sure of it,” she had said, laughing softly, her belly trembling with her laughter. 

Having finally reached the grand library, he took a chair next to the fireplace where she’d indicated. Tapestries of knights of old, and flowered woodland decorated the walls. Every seat was richly cushioned in royal blue velvet and gold cord around every drape on the windows. The small oil lamps, lit candles, and flamed torches gave the room a tranquil ambiance despite its extravagant furnishings. 

Miggs poured wine in a glass jeweled goblet and handed it to Wolfram, then she seated herself opposite him in the other chair. It was obvious by this that lord Prince of Irrison won’t be joining him this evening either, as Miggins made herself comfortable to keep him company.

“Please, taste the wine, I do hope it’s to your liking. We were told you prefer your wine sweet.”

Indeed, he did. The wine went down smoothly, and was so palatable, Wolfram let out an appreciative low moan. Miggs giggled softly. “I have also been instructed to give our cook directions to a few dishes you are so fond of.”

Wolfram found this oddly suspicious, nonetheless he kept to his princely mannerism.

“You are very kind to me, and have been an excellent hostess in place of your master, but…” He licked his lips, tasting remnants of the wine. “How can anyone here know my personal tastes in anything?” 

Miggins lowered her gaze, hesitated, then tilted her head to the side and whispered softly, “Lord Irrison does not wish me to tell you this, but I believe after your tedious journey and everything you must be feeling you have the right to know.” Wolfram leaned out on his chair, attentive now more than ever. “Your ex-fiancée wrote a letter to our lord Irrison months prior to this day. In which King Yuuri provided all we needed to know to make sure you are pleased and comfortable upon your arrival. We are most grateful for that—me most of all.”

Wolfram took a fortifying breath. /Sweet Shinou, that wimp had this all planned months before hand!/

Yuuri’s consideration to such details were one of his most amicable qualities. To have taken the time, the willingness to help lord Irrison—Wolfram didn’t know whether he felt saddened or angry by it, or both. 

/He knew he was eventually going to give me away to this lord Irrison, thus insisted on separate rooms—/

“Leah.” 

A servant, younger than Miggins came out quietly from around the corner, Wolfram hadn’t even noticed she’d been there all along. Her dark brown hair cut short and straight just above her ears, pale skin and tall with slim built. The strange girl bowed, expression frozen with no emotion, kept her head lowered, awaiting instruction. 

“Have Martha heat up the soup and cut up a sandwich or two. The young sir will have his supper here.” Nodding, the servant left without a word. “I hope you don’t mind—the dining room would be more proper, but it’s so gloomy and cold without the master and other guests filling the large table.”

Wolfram smiled. “No, you’ve read my thoughts. I much prefer it this way.”

Miggins smiled back, then changed the topic of their conversation to the room she’d been told to give him upon his arrival. Lord Irrison specifically ordered Wolfram be put in the room with the best view and finest furniture.  
“I had thought I’d be moving in the room with my betrothed?”

“’Tis what is expected, yes, but I thought it best, given your situation, for you to have your personal space, that is until you are more…comfortable with lord Irrison. Was it wrong of me?”

Wolfram lowered his gaze, never having met a person with as much consideration to others that rivaled Yuuri. “No, I’m much grateful for it, in fact,” he admitted. “I wasn’t given much information about this place or of lord Irrison.”

“You poor dear, whatever made you agree to this union?”

“I didn’t.” 

A short shocking silence filled the room, then the servant Leah entered, silver plated dishes clattering on the silver trolley which she placed in front of them. As Miggins took the reins in serving Wolfram, he sighed quietly, pondering what Yuuri was doing now at this very moment.

~*~

Yuuri looked up at the full moon from the window in front of him, the castle eerily quiet. He was sure Wolfram would be having dinner with his new betrothed this night and bid them both well, then the Maou’s voice in his thoughts surged forward, like a distant echo.

/I don’t know what to make of you,/ he said simply, shaking his head. /Surely this will cause us more pain than before, and I don’t understand why you’re so stubborn about it./

"There are some people that we know all our lives and yet never truly feel we know them at all," Yuuri reasoned.

/But there are other people we meet in a day, and instantly, it feels as though we’ve known them all our lives./ The Maou paused, then continued in a low saddened voice. /Wolfram was this to me…/

Unable to resist the temptation, Yuuri ran a feather-like caress to his lips, the memory of Wolfram’s kiss that night awakening something familiar again. The feel of soft lips, warm pert bottom heavy on this lap—

“Stop it!” Yuuri heaved, slapping his hand in the air, cutting away the memory he knew for sure the Maou forced in his head. 

"I did what was right for both of us," Yuuri reasoned again, ignoring the mental image of the Maou rolling his eyes. "Wolfram is much better off, don’t you see?"

Silence. 

Yuuri knew the Maou had left him. Sighing, he looked back to the sky, belly empty, heart full of worried agitation, and ironically enough, thoughts of Wolfram filling his mind.

I did the right thing…I know I did.


	4. Chapter Three: Meeting Him

Chapter Three: Meeting Him

Wolfram was awake, dressed, and eager to start another day. He waited comfortably in the usual grand library where he and Miggins made a habit of eating their meals there in idle chatter, something he’d come to enjoy and look forward to. She arrived right on schedule, and instead of taking her usual seat in front of him, remained by the doorway—with no sign of their simple breakfast anywhere. She bore news that his lordship send word that Wolfram was to eat breakfast with him out in the gardens. Without Miggins, of course.

“He returns today?” 

“Aye, Your Highness,” she said, her manner suddenly formal. “He arrived very early this morn and is readying himself before coming to meet you.”

Draping a thick cloak about his shoulders, they went downstairs into the entrance hall where Miggins bowed and opened the back door leading to the gardens. “This way.”

With a nod, he stepped outside. The morning was bright with a hint of cool chill in the air. Steam puffed out of his lips as he glanced around and caught sight of a small marble round table with two padded chairs in the middle of the garden. No breakfast and no Irrison.

“Is this where--?”

Click. 

Door closed, Wolfram rubbed his arms and sat on the chair facing the sun and recalled the light conversation he had with Miggins his first night during their supper in the library.

“Miggs,” he affectionately came to call her. She quickly came to be more of a dear friend whom he could easily talk to in a place he felt he was still a stranger to. “What manner of man is his lordship?”

“Oh, he’s a good master,” she said, dipping a chunk of loaf wheat to her soup. “Fine company, too. Enjoys horse-back riding and takes walks around the evenings. Bred like all gentle man with the knowledge of dancing and music.” Miggs sighed deeply. “I do pity him often times; he’s very much fortunate in his monetary status, but no social friends, not in terms of familiar only business equality. Such a great man, and so alone…” 

Wolfram anxiously tapped his boot on the garden pavement, barely able to contain his excitement, and hoping his nerves don’t embarrass him. He was so lost in his enthusiasm; he didn’t notice the man that haunted his thoughts walking toward him.

~*~

It was as though the world had stopped, as he stared in hushed wonder. Wolfram von Bielfield was indeed the most beautiful creature he ever beheld. A virginal angel, his pale soft skin flushed pink, shoulder-length golden locks glistening in the sunlight. He could barely breathe, only stare in feverish worship. 

Composing himself, he walked slowly toward the Mazoku prince, heart thundering in his chest. He was nervous, but still he called out to him bravely. 

“Wolfram von Bielfield?”

“Yes?”

Lowering his head quickly, he bent forward, bowing in a manner befitting a gentleman. 

“It is an honor to finally meet you. I’ve waited anxiously for this moment.” 

“Who are you may I ask?”

“I am your most humble servant as of today. Your needs will be my responsibility and any other requests to make your stay as comfortable and homely as I am able to provide.”

“Oh?” Wolfram asked insolently. His eyebrow arched at the poetic and verbally charming words Wolfram learned many painful a times offered only empty promises. This person, whom his face he could not see because he kept his head low, was being very daring to someone promised to lord Prince of Irrison. Must be a guard or a gatepost soldier of some sort. “Who are you to say such things to me?”

Raising his head, Wolfram looked into the golden eyes of the man before him. “I am your betrothed and future husband, Alan Alberic of Irrison.”

~*~

There was no possibility of much appetite after that. The maid Leah had come with a full breakfast as soon as her lord and master sat down. All Wolfram could force down was a single slice of warm toast covered in fresh jam and soft butter. His hands shook slightly as he raised his teacup to his lips, a few drops sloshing onto the saucer and very nearly onto his morning attire. 

He stole a nervous glance to his betrothed, an amused soft grin grazed Irrison’s lips once their eyes met, and Wolfram quickly looked away, a high flush burning his cheeks.

Dear Shinou, it cannot be possible, Wolfram thought, his pulse racing and chest heaving softly. How similar they are…

The man before him was the Maou—although Wolfram knew perfectly well it wasn’t due to many differences, yet the resemblance was shockingly remarkable. 

Eyes as amber as the radiant sunset, dark wheat-blonde hair skimmed the wide shoulders, and a finely sculpted body that would quicken any person’s heart rate. Height like Yuuri’s with only a few inches or two taller. He smelled of soap, a fresh new tunic of deep green linen fitted him perfectly on his broad shoulders, the color striking against the sun-touched hue of his skin.

Wolfram tried to ignore the fast beat of his pulse, having learned the importance of holding his heart on tight rein, but something about Irrison made him careless. The man before him was the epiphany of a forbidden fruit.

“Is there something else you require?” the man spoke out coolly. “You seem troubled.” He set his glass of juice down, lightly tapping his lips with a napkin. “I thought you might do with some company this morn.” 

Wolfram held him in stare, running his fingers along the covered necktie of his blouse, clearing his throat in a nervous manner. It did not help at all as Irrison’s eyes followed his every movement, lewd eyes lasciviously traveling over his body in a hunger served for a more private setting.

“Like you said, my lord, I…I was indeed missing your company—”

“Alan. Please.”

“You’ve been gone for the first few days that I-I’ve begun to think…you’ve forgotten me.”

Amongst this nervous babble, Wolfram knew it was the truth indeed. The fear in his heart of being left behind, ignored and forgotten, yet again.

Irrison sat there for a moment, unresponsive, then reached out slowly taking Wolfram’s left hand, caressed it lightly with his thumb, turned it and lightly pressed a feathery kiss to the inner palm. A shudder of much desired need and consolation tingled through Wolfram’s body, and he was surprised it was Alan Alberic of Irrison who awakened this feeling…and not someone else.

“I apologize if my absence made you feel abandoned. It won’t happen again. I give you my word.”

“Well,” Wolfram cleared his throat softly. “If…If I have your assurance…”

“Oh, yes,” he whispered, twining Wolfram’s fingers with his own in loving attention. Those steely golden eyes never leaving Wolfram’s face. “Always.”

Entranced, Wolfram found no voice, only closed his eyes as Irrison leaned forward and gently pressed his lips on Wolfram’s own. He felt a burning desire for the man in that moment and he knew Alan felt the same. 

“I wish to know every inch of you, beautiful,” he whispered, mouth sinking below Wolfram’s necktie to peck at the skin there, Alan’s hand holding Wolfram in place. “Outside and inside.”

Wolfram gasped softly, feeling another wave of red-hot blush burn his cheeks. “What impropriety, my lord…”

“You are right, maybe it is too soon to touch you this way. I don’t wish to scare you off.” His kisses continued, making Wolfram light-headed. 

“You don’t scare me, my lord.”

“Alan.” Placing his other hand on Alan’s hard chest, Wolfram pushed gently, earning a small grin on Alan’s lips. “You are shy, my sweet?”

“Only because…you are doing things to me.”

“You are my fiancée. It is only natural, expected even, isn’t it?”

Those familiar words he’d shout at Yuuri sounded so different coming from this man. Irrison leaned back, distracting himself as his eyes lowered to their cold unfinished breakfast. 

“I’d offer you a tour of the grounds, but I’m sure Miggins didn’t hesitate to do so already.”

Wolfram swept up to his feet, Irrison mimicked his movement with a questioning silence. Taking Alan’s arm and winding it with his, Wolfram giggled softly. “She did so indeed, my lord, but I’m sure the tour with your company now, will be a much new experience.”

Smiling, Irrison covered Wolfram’s hands with his own. “I’ll be honored to.”

Stepping inside the castle, their soft chatter echoing the halls, Wolfram tightened his grip on Alan’s arm, something he always craved to do with Yuuri but was often rebuffed. He bravely laid his head on Alan’s shoulder, whisking past memories away as breakfast was soon forgotten.

Author’s Note:   
I knew a guy with hazel eyes once, and in the sun light they glowed a clear warm yellow color. Though I only met him once or twice, it’s the only part of him I will always keep close to my heart. Those golden amber eyes...


	5. Chapter Four: To Love Again

WARNING: Explicit graphic content on this chapter. So, if you’re under underage, do your mental innocence a favor, and skip it.

Chapter Four: To Love Again

There was a hint of autumn chill in the late October air, Wolfram touched his heels to his mare’s flanks, smiling with joy as the animal broke into a smooth gallop. It’s been six days since his departure of Shin Makoku, and Wolfram thought he’d gone mad or home sick by now, but such was not the case. 

It was the first time in a while he had been out riding and the autumn hues of the fields of Irrison flew beneath him. He had convinced Alan to go hunt with him that evening, for which Alan did not refuse.

“’Twas a good notion, my dear,” Alan called out, following Wolfram on his stallion. Both animals seemed excited and eager for a run. 

Wolfram grinned at him, then bending low over the animal’s neck, whispered to it, and the horse slowed to a steady walking pace. They both halted on a corner of a field that provided an abundance of grazing land upon gently rolling hills overlooking the people going about ending their evening duties. 

“Is this the only village?” Wolfram asked.

“Yes and a few scattered settlements. Between that and the castle is less than two-hundred or so whom depend upon Irrison land, and we on them. They are decent, hard-working folk.”

“Is it always this peaceful? You don’t even keep guards at your side or around the castle.”

Unlike Yuuri, who was occasionally flaunted with soldiers, Gunter and each one of his brothers left and right. Alan chuckled.

“A sheep or two go missing, the lack of or overabundance of rain now and then. Pestilence.” He sighed, gaze lowering. “After grandmother—Lady Anne—passed, most of her allied kingdoms left us alone. The second village abandoned us, this being the only one left loyal to me. First, out of respect for Lady Anne, now for me, her grandson.”

Baffled at the tragic hardship of the story, Wolfram could find no voice of consolation. What could have happened here? The said village was in sight a few miles away, but Wolfram wasn’t ready to visit yet. 

~*~

They returned to the castle three hours later with a huge boar tied to a pole. Miggins gave instruction to have it roast into steaks for tonight’s supper. Once bathed, Wolfram took care pampering himself, wanting to look presentable for his fiancée. And eager for a pleasant chat with him in the parlor afterwards, as they’ve done for the past nights. 

As he looked himself over in the mirror, once or twice his eyes lingered briefly to the book that laid on his dresser, the one he read each night before bed. In it he’d hidden a letter he’d received on the second day upon his arrival to Irrison land. This was before Alan’s arrival to the castle, and he had no intention of letting his husband-to-be know Wolfram had received such a letter form an ex fiancée from Shin Makoku. 

When Wolfram confronted Alan’s involvement to the fiancée exchange during their hunt earlier, he gave no excuse or denied it. In fact, Alan admitted it was he who proposed the idea and send word to King Yuuri in hopes of uniting the two kingdoms as allies and prospering both from the situation. Alan would gain a fiancée from a strong royal demon bloodline and Yuuri would gain his freedom. Astonishing, but true, Wolfram admired Alan’s valorous attempt to try and finally succeeding, making the exchange peaceful and without outward hardship or conflict among the two kingdoms.

Wolfram lifted the hard, leather-bound book, peeked at the parchment paper of Yuuri’s folded letter, recalling its contents. Yuuri inquired Wolfram’s well-being, and apologized for them not parting well, and wished him the best of luck for him and his new fiancée. The wording sounded so dismissive on Yuuri’s part, that Wolfram hadn’t given a reply since out of lingering bitterness. 

Letting the cover fall over the letter, Wolfram cleared his throat and spun around, letting the feeling of hunger be his excuse for leaving the room.

By the time he entered the dining hall, Miggins and three other servants rushed about to gather more supplies from the kitchens. It was then he noticed the staff who served only inside the castle were all female. And even more peculiar was that apart from Miggins and the old cook Martha, all the thirteen servant girls were the same age, and had twin physical appearances. They all wore the same uniform, had short brown bob-cut hair and all with grey icy eyes and pale faces that held no emotion whatsoever. They kept to themselves, disappearing to their duties and didn’t speak only when addressed. And it gave Wolfram a chill that all were referred to as “Leah.”

Aware he’d been watched since he entered the hall, Wolfram made his way to the table to take his place beside his fiancée. 

His place…

Aye, he supposed it was now his as Irrison’s consort, a position he’d never imagined claiming with no one either than Yuuri. A sad truth, indeed.

Standing, Irrison bowed respectfully and kissed Wolf’s hand. “A pleasant evening this will be,” he whispered. “I hope this will be a first of many, my sweet.”

Wolfram nodded in agreement as Alan settled him on his chair, even going as far as placing the dinner napkin on his lap. Thanking him, Wolfram’s eyes wandered around the table covered in red cloth. A basket of fresh baked bread and small bowls filled with creamy butter, and a platter of seasonal dates, figs, grapes and cherry tomatoes laid neatly in place as they awaited their main course.

Most castle knights, family members or business guests of the day were accustomed to dining with their lord, only the grand hall was empty, besides Wolfram and Alan. Miggins words struck him true to the fact that lord Prince of Irrison was lacking in social events and had no friends or family indeed. The man was utterly alone, completely different from the bustling castle filled with family and annoying friends Wolfram grew up in. 

Wolfram looked to his husband-to-be, smiling sweetly, pitying the man as Alan once again took Wolfram’s hand, kissed it and wouldn’t let go this time, instead twining their fingers in a playful manner. An act Alan made a habit of doing each time Wolfram sat next to him, something the Mazoku prince didn’t seem to mind in the least.

Wolfram’s eyes wandered back to the strange girls again as they went about quietly readying the table. Noticing this, Alan’s voice rang out in the eerie silence of the room, making Wolfram jump slightly to look at him.

“I do not employ male staff. I’m a very jealous man, and with you, my dear,” he paused only to give a quick peck to Wolfram’s hand again; then smiled, his amber eyes piercing Wolfram’s own. “I won’t risk the opportunity of any man stealing you away from me.” 

Wolfram felt a swell of pride. Here, he was truly wanted, and very much needed and desired solely, in such a way he’s never been before, but always craved to be. 

“Don’t worry about that, m’lord, I’m very loyal to the one I can call my fiancée. Though…I expect the same in return.”

“Always, my love.” Wolfram felt his heart twinge at the endearment. “Always.”

~*~

That night, Wolfram sat in his chamber, staring out the window at the dark horizon and starry skies. He had drank too much wine at supper, so much so he had Alan staring at him in concern.

“More wine, my dear?” he gasped softly, eyes lingering on Wolfram’s fourth glass. Wine didn’t do for a clear head, but he needed the extra dose of courage for what he’d decided to do that very night. 

Wolfram sat there for a while, warring with himself in silence, until he sat up abruptly, stalking the dim maze of empty hallways. Heart thundering in his ears, he turned down the corridor that led to Alan’s room. He could not ignore how familiar this scene felt, and the same fear overpowered him. 

What if he gained the same result? Was rejected? Again. 

He hated the vulnerability he felt, his will power quickly shredding. It went against every decorum and holy vows before marriage. Wolfram closed his eyes in fear and nervous anguish. 

Shinou, please…I need this, Wolfram thought, reaching for the door latch. This moment would decide my fate.

It was a desperate act out of deprivation of carnal desire long neglected. He needed to claim Alan Alberic Irrison’s love and devotion now when it was fresh and freely given. If he allowed it to prolong, mayhap, Alan’s feeling would dissipate, just like Yuuri’s did…

Nay. 

He will not lose this one either and he will not be neglected again.

~*~

Alan managed to keep his hands to himself since the first meeting with Wolfram, even though the sway of his lovely backside kept him fantasizing every night since. He was tempted beyond endurance to touch every supple curve of the Mazoku’s body. How can a man not be tempted by a beauty that radiated such sexual tension? How can a man say no to have the embodiment of lust forever at his side?

Only Yuuri Shibuya it seemed. What a fool of a man indeed. Yet, rumors said King Yuuri was only half-man, were all demon kings blind to the treasures that lay before them? Trade them away like objects, hoping for something better?

He inhaled deeply, recalling Wolfram’s sweet scent and gorgeous green eyes. In mere weeks he will marry Wolfram, and only then could he possess the right to touch whatever intimate part of Wolfram he desired. He could do so now, as his lord and betrothed, but prudence warned him to wait until marriage and vows bound them. Given the manner in how Wolfram came to be his fiancée, his self-control may be the only key to Wolfram’s surrender, he had reasoned. For now, he’d make do with rousing kisses or two, and gentle, sweet touches. 

Alan’s door rumbled open, he sat up suddenly, only to gaze at the silhouette of Wolfram, bathed in moonlight, dressed in a coral nightie. Locking eyes with him, Wolfram shut the door and stalked toward the bed. 

“What’s happened?” Alan asked, swinging his legs over the bed, bare chested and wearing only loose dark brown pants. “Are you all right?”

In quick stealth, Wolfram placed both hands on Alan’s shoulders before the man could stand.

“Lie down,” he ordered in a rough, panting whisper, pressing his palms gently, as Wolfram lifted his legs, climbing on the bed. 

Trembling with desire for him, Alan obeyed, bracing his hands behind him as he eased onto his back again, large hands resting on Wolfram’s legs as they straddled his hips. Wolfram lifted the gown over his head, revealing creamy skin, no undergarment and pink pert nipples. Alan couldn’t resist, pushing himself up and burying his face on Wolfram’s chest, claiming a nipple and sucking at it in desperate need for heated flesh. 

Wolfram arched his back to his first sensations of sex, gasping in ecstasy as Alan held him in place by the waist with one hand, and the other quickly rubbing Wolfram’s length in a sensual rhythm. 

Never having felt such sensations, how such a touch could ignite a deep fire of carnal desire for more… 

Within the darkness of the room, Alan’s hair seemed to darken in a familiar onyx color, and those amber eyes, now darkened as well, pierced through to look solely at Wolfram, reminding him of his first love--painfully unrequited, a love that will forever remain within the deep ocean of secrets in his broken self-mending heart.

Wolfram caressed Alan’s face, lifting his jaw, then kissing his eyelids, his cheeks, while wrapping his arms about the man’s neck, fearful if he didn’t hold on tight enough, this person too would leave him. The fear of it, the sadness swelling in his chest, was too much. He needed to forget, yet couldn’t, and probably never will. 

Oh, Yuuri…

“I need you,” Wolfram murmured, tears flowing down the corner of his eyes, lips trembling as he heard himself voice his secret longing to Alan, yet only his heart alone knew who those words were truly meant for. “You don’t know how much I’ve always needed you...needed your love.”

Alan tried to think beyond the pounding of his heart. Not one in his life has ever said such a thing to him. And when Wolfram brought his soft trembling lips to his for a sweet chaste kiss, all reason in him was lost. 

“Yes,” Alan said, voice faint and breathless as Wolfram reached down and stroked his hardness. “I’m yours, sweeting. Take my love, my entire being is yours.”

With a groan of soul-deep gratitude, Wolfram kissed Alan and just as quickly rose off Alan’s lap, withdrawing their kiss. Alan watched in savage need as Wolfram moved to a kneeling position, raised his bottom, and held Alan’s stare over his shoulder. 

“Please, hurry,” he whimpered, green eyes hazy and damp with longing. 

After prepping Wolfram’s entrance with the wetness of his tongue, Alan eased behind him, stroking Wolfram’s back with both hands with intention to relax his soon-to-be-lover. Lining the smooth head of his erection, he mounted Wolfram, claiming the Mazoku’s virginity with one slow thrust. Wolfram’s shocked cry of pain was muffled in the pillow, his muscles tensed around in the effort to be still. 

Alan didn’t let go or stopped kissing Wolfram’s neck, back, hands stroking Wolfram’s buttocks, caressing his hair, body ordering him to wait until Wolfram’s body accepted him.

“You are so beautiful, my sweet,” Alan breathed, kissing the inner shell of Wolfram’s ear. “You are mine now. Forever, my love.” 

Heart pounding wildly, he rose on his hands only to plunge into Wolfram’s body, slow at first, then as his control slipped into oblivion, quickened his strokes, making Wolfram writhe and gasp in the new building sensation of their love making. 

Losing themselves in each other Alan took Wolfram harder with each round, loving how in his incoherent throws of passion, Wolfram pushed on him to meet every greedy thrust of his hips. 

“Oh, yes, it’s so—Oh, please!” he cried, face radiant with bliss of sex. 

Shinou, help him, he could not believe he’d denied himself this for so many years!

“That’s right, my angel, come for me,” Alan panted. “Everything I have is yours. My body, my heart—everything.”

The bed shook in their groans and tender cries as they climaxed together. Alan felt his blonde beauty squeeze him in blinding pleasure, shuddering his profound release, then going limp in sated pleasure against the pillows. Alan continued to finish his own climax, holding Wolfram close as he swayed his hips in a languid motion, his seed bursting inside the depths of his lover, waiting for their breaths and pulse to slow back down. 

As the air cooled against their sweat slicked bodies, Alan pulled a blanket over their nakedness, eyes heavy with sleep, as he finally fell limp out of Wolfram. Gently, he laid to cuddle his lover, arms winding themselves possessively over the Mazoku prince’s waist. He pressed a kiss on Wolfram’s forehead as he rubbed Wolfram’s warm buttocks in a consoling manner. 

“You’ve ensnared me, my sweet love,” Alan said, sighing in the after-sex bliss. “Now, I shall never let you go.”

Wolfram grinned lightly on hearing this love-induced pledge. It gave him happiness and security knowing he will never again feel neglected. 

Author’s Note:   
I’ve never been on horseback or have drank wine—ever. Yet, I wanted to keep the story within the historical feel of the era, in the time of castles, kings and such. I’m hoping I’m describing everything all right and not confusing anybody. In order to write well, you must read a lot—Stephen King said something around those lines, and they’ve been with me ever since.


	6. Chapter Five: Letters

Chapter Five: Letters

The candle’s flame flickered, glowing a soft amber upon the brown-yeller crinkled parchment as the Maou finished his letter to Wolfram. 

So quickly has the future became the present, and the present became a collection of mere memories, that seemed so far away in such short time, it almost felt as though a dream that had passed and not reality. And the feeling frightened him. It was an error, a rash mistake done on quick impulse on Yuuri’s part, the Maou often reasoned in his head, repeating it over and over to ease the boiling rage he knew only lay temporarily dormant within. He’d tried his best to mend this perplexity in this long-passing week and it seemed to take years.

The Maou chewed his bottom lip slowly as he looked over his letter, and finally concluding every wording to be in the right manner, folded it carefully, sealed it with wax, and stood from his desk to quietly make his way through the empty darken hallways lighted only by small oil lamps and torches that hung on its walls. Steadily rushing down the grand staircase he pushed his way out the heavy castle doors, turning to a nearby soldier on guard at the iron gates and gave his instruction.

“Deliver this to the nearest post man in the towns, now.”

The cold evening air blew, signaling the start of early fall, yet the low temperature didn’t faze the Maou as he watched the soldier and his escort mount their horses to quickly disappear on the main road ahead. He frowned, crossing his arms and tipping his heel against the dirt road as his thoughts raced about in his head. He should’ve insisted, been more aggressive on Yuuri to voice his feelings, mayhap even he himself could’ve forced his own affections on the blonde prince, been bolder, and maybe he wouldn’t be in this cage filled with compunction, worry and agonizing grief now. 

Oh, Father Time, can’t you unwind the past for me this one time? Please, he begged.

“Shibuya.” 

The Maou turned to see the Great Sage, or Yuuri’s human friend, slowly approach him, a heavy warm cloak covering his robes. 

“Or should I say, your Majesty,” Murata corrected, bowing his head slightly at him. 

The man had grown lean and tall through the course of the years yet kept himself well fit despite his docile, handsome and gentle persona. His black hair was grown out long and curling at the ends, the glass spectacles framing his face gave him a regal and mysterious presence, as well as shadow the wisdom of his years. He’d earned his place as second in command at the rare times the Maou King was unable to command orders, and the people followed him with the same loyalty and respect. The highest of honors, the people had said, to be known as the Maou’s right hand man.

The Maou turned his attention back on the main road, his body stiff, his countenance never softening, ignoring as Murata reached for a second cloak he had brought, and carefully began to settle it over the King’s broad shoulders. 

“Sir,” he said. “You do realize Yuuri will wake to remember all this? It’s not like before.”

“I do know,” came the Maou’s reply, his voice hoarse and deep. “And he hasn’t stopped me yet. Even if he does, I will continue until I receive a reply from my beloved.”

Murata sighed quietly, pitying his friend Yuuri, the Maou, and the entire situation that was tangled in so many emotional uncertainties. He had warned Yuuri countless times, before the agreement could be finalized, to be certain if the decision to trade Wolfram to another would not bring him any form of remorse, that would later impede him from living peacefully. Convincing himself to be for the betterment of the kingdom as well as for himself, Yuuri had agreed on impulse, yet, the Maou was another matter. The demon’s actions of longing toward Wolfram has slowly swelled the painful guilt within Yuuri, like an uncomfortable air bubble trapped inside the chest.

Knowing to choose his words carefully, Murata said, “Wolfram is to be married soon, my lord.”

“He isn’t yet,” came the quick reply.

“Recall the contract you made. It clearly stated—”

“I did not make it!” the Maou shouted, his booming voice in the stillness of the night alerting the nearby guards who ran to them with quick stealth, swords drawn. Without taking his eyes off the Maou, Murata quickly lifted his hand, signaling the troops to lay down their guard and weapons. The king’s sudden rage not having fazed Murata one bit. The signal was taken, and the guards returned to their posts, seeing there was no threat about, only one angry grief-stricken king. “This is an absurdity! It never should’ve happened!” 

Murata remained quiet as the Maou continued to pour out his complaints.

“My human counter-part is a fool!” the Maou said, venomously, having calmed his voice though not his rage. “And once he realizes his dubious mistake, I’ll make sure Yuuri feels every sharp agonizing pain I feel now!”

Vow set in place, he spun around, hand gripping the cloak off his shoulders only to swing it violently to the ground, leaving the Great Sage at the gates. Murata leaned down and picked up the Maou’s cloak, his long black hair falling gracefully over his face. Once up, he draped his heavy locks back behind his shoulders, dusting the cloak as he watched the Maou march back inside the castle. 

I’ve a bad feeling, he thought, looking up at the dark heavens, not one star in sight to give light upon the situation at present. I feel a shadow is slowly but surely casting itself over all of us…

~*~

Wolfram laid on their bed, watching Alan put on his chain mail, strap his boots and slip on his riding gloves. 

“What will you do today?” he asked.

“Go to the village, must make sure everything is in order for the coming winter season.”

Wolfram sat up, picking up their breakfast plates from the bed, aware of how late it was and only now they were both getting up from their full morning of endless lovemaking plays in bed. 

“The village has been through winter seasons before, I’m sure. Don’t you trust them to know what to do? And it’s no place for the lord of the castle. Send others out.”

Alan snorted. “’Tis my place to do it, I’ve no men on my services. You know the reason.”

“If you insist, then I’ll come with you.”

Chain mail secured, he strapped on his sword, and walked to Wolfram’s side where he was now placing the plates of finished breakfast on the silver trolley. He wound his arms on Wolfram’s waist, placing a light kiss to a creamy shoulder. 

“It’s too soon, but I promise I’ll take you with me one day. I’ll show you all you need to know as future Queen of this land.”

Wolfram handed Alan his helmet. “Anything you wish me to do, then?”

“Ready yourself for supper tonight, a walk in the gardens afterwards,” another light kiss. “Maybe a late bath?”

That he could easily do, though it made Wolfram feel useless, nonetheless. He only hoped that in time Alan would come to trust Wolfram more with all the workings of house and land. Mayhap, even convince him to employ soldiers that Wolfram himself could train. Every castle and lord needed an army. Fingers entwined in wheat-color locks, Wolfram pulled Alan down for a kiss, finding some comfort in Alan’s promised return and plans for another night of sexual trysts.

“Have care,” Wolfram whispered, not wanting Alan to go. 

“Always,” he said, then shoved on his helmet and was gone. The silence in the room was deafening, Wolfram’s stomach roiled nervously, but unwilling to succumb to worry, he finished dressing and grabbed the jar of scented balm, palming the cream on his hands and face. 

Slowly, he made his way to the usual spots he and Miggs used to take meals and found all the rooms empty. He then guided himself to where he assumed the kitchen would be, something he’d never done before, not even in his own home. But he hadn’t seen Miggins during his love-induced days with Alan, just seen her here and there but having no time to chat like they used to before. And he so yearned for her pleasant company to brag of his joy and happiness of finally feeling he belonged in this place, at Alan’s side. And in the near future, help Alan prosper this land…together. 

He found her, busy with one or two Leah’s bustling about on the stove and hearth, the smell of lunch permeating the air around the galley. Large grey flag stones covered the kitchen floors, fresh bread, vegetables and fruit lined the open pantries, clean pots and pans neatly stored on raised wooden shelves or hanging hooks along the stone walls. A long heavy oak wooden table centered the whole of the kitchen, used well for cutting meat or prepping meals but cleanly preserved. As it was so large, only one corner of it was being presently used. Miggins quickly sensed Wolfram as he cautiously entered the kitchen, a friendly smile beaming her face as she walked toward him, wiping her hands on the cloth of her apron.

“Oh, goodness, you startled me, young sir!” Miggins said, receiving Wolfram in a tight embrace. Like a grandmother greeting her grandson after many weeks apart.

They ate their noon meal there on the large simple wooden table of the kitchen, as the two Leah’s quietly kept busy either chopping cheese or keeping watch of the thick beef stew boiling in the pot on the hearth, to what Wolfram assumed to be tonight’s supper. 

When Wolfram politely inquired over the old cook Martha, he was told she only took care of morning meals, leaving evening meals to Miggins, as there was only Wolfram and lord Irrison in the castle to feed. Miggins added, strangely enough, that the thirteen Leah’s cleaning and washing linen about the castle did not eat human meals.

Wolfram wanted to inquire more of how all these Leah’s came to be. Alan and Miggins were human, not capable of the powerful magic to clone one person this way. If Leah was even a living a person, the thought giving Wolfram a bit of chill. How was this done? he thought and just at that moment, the two Leah’s turned their heads, hands not stopping from their duties to watch him quietly as well.

Noticing Wolfram’s scrutinizing stare at the girls, Miggins quickly dismissed the strangeness of Leah, turning the conversation to more familiar matters.

“Oh, it feels as though it’s been ages since we’ve last eaten this way,” Miggins giggled. Wolfram turned his gaze away from the Leah’s to smile warmly at Miggins. 

“Yes, it has,” he agreed, bread in hand as he dabbed it in the wooden bowl of meaty pot pie, to what the royals at home would consider a peasant’s meal. ‘Twas tasty and a bit addicting, he had to admit, though.

“How are you faring with lord Irrison? Are you…happy?”

“It’s been wonderful! I didn’t imagine I’d ever feel this way of love again,” Wolfram admitted, recalling his days spent with Alan, playing chess, showing off each one’s archery skills. And at night, well… 

“My previous fiancée, you see, though he proved to be a loyal friend to me, my family and the kingdom, always treated me with a mild neglect…when it came to…my persisting…”

Wolfram’s voice drawled out slowly, his glass of water paused inches from his lips, concern quickly evident when Miggins lowered her gaze to her tea, smile fading into a somber and uncomfortable silence.

“What is it, Miggs?”

Miggins looked about nervously, paused, then slowly pulled a small brown bag from her shawl, bulged heavy in the shape of what looked to be letters, bundled heartily in it.

“I’ve not wanted to grieve you, child, seeing how happy you’ve been,” she whispered, hands clutching tightly to the brown bag. Eyes continued to look about, as though fearing her lord and master might come in unexpectedly at any moment. “And noticing how intimately you’ve warmed up to the master, and he of you.”

She reached out slowly over their forgotten meal, and Wolfram took the bag from her hands and procured the bundle of neatly stacked letters. It was quite a collection, indeed.

“I’ve kept these secretly,” Miggs continued, her voice low. “They’ve been arriving for you upon your second day here, after the first letter you’ve yet to reply…every day.”

Wolfram glanced down, thumbing the letters and recognizing the writing, the parchment and ink…they were letters from Yuuri.

“You said this engagement wasn’t by your choice, is that right?”

Wolfram nodded, heart quickening. He inhaled deeply, took a quick glance at Miggins for added courage and he ripped the corner of the first letter. Miggins’ chair creaked, the noise loud in the silent ambiance around them, making herself more comfortable as Wolfram read the first letter quietly out loud.

It’s been only days, yet I feel as though it’s been years since I last saw your beautiful self. This reality to what I admit being at fault to, is torture without you in my world.  
~Y

I miss you when something good happens because you’re the one I’ve always shared those moments with. Please tell me how not to miss you…  
~Y

I’ve yet to receive a reply and I do not blame you. Maybe it’s better if you don’t…just know everyone is doing well and I hope you are well, too.  
~Y

Wolfram, I’m sorry…I need you to know that I’ve always cared for you. You’ve always been special to me, though I know you may not believe it now. One day I will ask your forgiveness.  
~Y

Wolfram stopped reading, hands flying to his lips in a princely state of bewilderment. He felt his eyes water as he looked at the written sincere apology on the letter he presently held. There were more letters, but Wolfram wouldn’t dare open anymore—not out in the open like this. He looked up to see Miggins, her eyes never averting his face, quietly awaiting any instruction to whatever decision he’d choose to make. Standing slowly and clearing his throat, Wolfram gave his first order to Miggins since he’s arrived. 

“Please, do not tell the lord of this,” he said, letters clutched tightly in his hands.

“I’ll not say a word.”

“Is there a post man in the village?”

“Aye, there is. The young lad who brought the letters, I’ve had asked him to deliver in the back entrance of this kitchen, because of the master. The lad’s father owns the carriage that delivers long distance post throughout the nearby settlements.”

“I assume Alan doesn’t get many letters…”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Wolfram made his choice. “I have to reply, Miggs, without Alan’s knowledge. I won’t cheat or lie to him with my ex-fiancée, but I do this because I don’t how Alan will feel about me exchanging letter with another man. You know his temperament, is he a very jealous man?”

“I have heard rumors he is, and very much so. I can send Leah to the posts in the wee morning hours.”

“Thank you.”

~*~

Yuuri sat alone in his chair, staring at the blazing fire in the hearth of his bedroom. The sun was just barely setting in the horizon, and he feared, with no reply from Wolfram yet again, the Maou would likely take over once more. He’d given the Maou freedom to do so, writing letters to Wolfram. He’d written a few letters himself as well, just not as intimately. 

What if Wolfram got into trouble by receiving those letters? he asked himself more than once. Though he knew deep in his soul Wolfram would be discreet about it, and being a skillful soldier, and knowing Wolfram’s fiery temper, knew the blonde Mazoku would be fine. Yuuri closed his eyes, his mind full of constant worry.

A gentle knock came to his door. 

The Maou opened his eyes, their color flashing a deep hollow blackness, long hair swiftly draping his face, not moving to answer the door.

“What is it?” he said sharply from his chair, his voice changing quickly to his other commanding presence.

“Your Highness,” came a servant girl’s cautious voice from behind the wooden door. “The post man just arrived from—”

The door opened suddenly, the startled maid backing against the wall just as the Maou passed, almost flying down the stairs in quick urgency. Finally, after days of waiting…!

Wolfram, my foul-tempered angel, the Maou screamed inwardly. You’ve not forgotten me! 

The human post-carrier bowed respectfully when he saw King Yuuri at the gate. The Maou quickly snatched the letters from the human’s hands, turned to the nearest guard and said, “See to it he is given food and upon my permission he can stay the night before traveling back.”

“Thank you, sir,” came the human’s grateful reply, but went unheard as the Maou bolted back inside the castle, who did not bother returning to his chambers instead entered the nearest parlor, took a random seat, opened the letter and began to read. 

Yuuri,

I’m not sure how to begin this letter, but believe me when I say, I am always thinking of you, yet you need to understand that things have changed. You did what you thought best, and I was heartbroken because of it, realizing you never once considered my feelings and took me for granted. 

I feared my life incomplete and certain I would not find happiness again, yet Alan completes me in such a way that I look forward every day to our days spent together. Only time will tell if what I feel for him is real…  
Your heart will fix itself, Yuuri. It’s your memories of us and your guilt that keep you feeling this way. Please convince yourself to let go. Let me go so I can begin to let you go, as well. 

~Wolfram

Letters continued between the two, as the autumn season grew short and cold, making way to a frosty November.

Wolf,  
I don’t think my heart knows how to heal itself. Not without you. Please tell me what to do.  
~Y

You must forget about us, Yuuri. I’ll wed Alan soon, and I cannot continue to write to you like this…  
~W

Can I see you one last time? Please come to Shin Makoku for the annual bonfire festival in November. It will be my last request before I can truly let you go.  
~Y

Please send us a formal invitation for I will not be coming alone.  
~W

~*~

It was a cool evening breeze that blew inside the open window of the carriage. Wolfram leaned his head on Alan’s shoulder, content and lost in bliss of the moment as he recalled the events that transpired the night before, as he read Yuuri’s invitation to him. 

King Yuuri, 27th Maou of Shin Makoku cordially invites all to regale our united and neighboring kingdoms in celebration of our annual end-of-summer festival held at Shin Makoku lands.  
Dinner and dancing to follow, and we request guests to dress warmly for the arrival of the winter season.

“I don’t think we should go,” Wolfram had said, the invitation crinkling in his hands as he sat watching Alan prepare their trunks for the journey. The man placed his wine goblet on the oak table, kneeled in front of the blonde, and looked up at him while twining their hands together. 

“Do not think of it as to what it is,” he reassured gently. “Instead think of it as a family visit. I’ve no family, and it will be an honor to know my fiancée’s personally.”

Wolfram smiled lightly at Alan’s sweet words, yet he couldn’t help feeling even more uncertain. 

But Yuuri will be there, he wanted to say--but kept silent. Seeing his hesitation, Alan tightened his hold on Wolfram. “I will be at your side, always, my dear.”

“I’ve heard such promise before,” Wolfram uttered, downcast. He hadn’t meant to say his disappointments out loud, yet he did. ‘Twas embarrassing and showed a side of vulnerability he bitterly refused to admit he had. 

“Not from me,” came Alan’s sharp reply, lifting Wolfram’s chin to stare intently at him. “I keep my word—You will not leave my side. Especially, not at the presence of the King.”

Alan’s promise seemed to be the only reassurance Wolfram had to gather courage and prepare his still sensitive heart for what he dreaded will come soon…facing Yuuri. 

Alan took Wolfram’s hand and kissed it as Wolfram smiled at him. He leaned over and kissed Alan on the lips as the Shin Makoku castle walls became visible in the frosty grey hills coming on the main road. Wolfram laid his head on Alan’s shoulder, fingering the black onyx ring on Alan’s ring finger, a gift Wolfram bestowed on him that very morning before departing, then the other hand lovingly stroking his soft rounding belly...


	7. Chapter Six: The Bonfire Festival

Chapter Six: The Bonfire Festival

The talk of Wolfram’s visit did not die down, the castle bustled with noise in preparation for the weekend festival. Servants hurried about with collections of food trays in hand, polished goblets for water and wine, and above all the hullaballoo, trying to maintain order was close to impossible with the Maou taking management role in every detail of the party. It was quickly noted how enthusiastic he seemed soon after receiving confirmation that Wolfram would arrive a day before the festivities. It was such a change from the weeks of forlorn, quiet and moody King he’d become since Wolfram’s departure.

Everyone, family and staff alike wished to be ready and at the front nearest the entrance gates to greet Prince Wolfram and his new fiancée (although Yuuri seemed to purposely deny or ignore that fact, not wanting to dampen his own cheerful spirit, knowing Wolfram would soon be here).

“Isn’t this exciting?” The Maou heard Queen Cecile ask, to no one in particular, as she too made it her duty to look over the details, mainly in the ballroom. “They say lord prince of Irrison is a most handsome devil! My Wolfie got lucky twice! I do hope he’s settled into his new situation and taken advantage of his youth to finally give me some lovely grandchildren!”

It was quite apparent the woman held no shame and it made Murata giggle in amusement as he entered the ballroom, carrying a small bundle of dinner napkins. The Great Sage was dressed in a purple cotton soft robe with gold trimming on the edges and his long black hair was pulled back in a lazy ponytail. Murata gently lifted his front robe, careful as he descended the short steps, and slowly neared the direction Yuuri now stood. The Maou turned away from him, busying himself rearranging random items on the already set table, yet he couldn’t do much as Murata came to set the napkins next to where he was. It brought a bit of annoyance, as he well knew Murata would soon lecture him or remind him of something he’d come to deny for a while; and dread as well.

“Knowing him, he probably did settle down well,” Murata stated, knowing his friend could hear every word. He paused shortly, calmly setting the napkins in place before continuing, “If you saw him with his new fiancée, perhaps you wouldn’t feel so compelled to convince him to return to you.”

The Maou gave an irritable sigh, and was about to turn away, but Murata caught hold if his wrist, gripping it tightly, forcing the King to stay put. “Can’t you let the poor man be? Leave him alone and give him a chance to try to forget Yuuri.”

Irritated, the Maou finally turned to face him, pulling himself free of Murata’s hold. He knew the Great Sage concerned himself of the Maou’s prolonged stay in Yuuri’s body, claiming it not being “healthy” for him to linger so long when his mood has been a whirlwind of emotions; Suspected Yuuri was only hiding behind the Maou’s regal form, mayhap out of shame for what he did, or for the ever-lingering guilt he could not stray away from.   
Pitch black snake-eyes glared down at Murata, who in turn braved his stare on the Maou with equal determination.

“What do you want from me?” the Maou whispered, ignoring how the sudden tension had quieted the ballroom. He knew, though they’ve been speaking quietly, the whole of the people around paused their duties to overhear their every word. “What are you trying to say?”

“For your benefit as well as his, talk to him. Honestly, from here,” Murata demanded, pounding the Maou’s chest softly just above his heart. “Say your final farewell and let him go. And then perhaps, you will finally give yourself the final closure.”

The Great Sage didn’t wait for any form of rebuttal, for he turned and left the room just as swiftly as he came, his robes flowing behind him.

~*~

The long, expected arrival came at last and every man and woman bowed as Prince Wolfram dismounted the carriage with his new fiancée. Arms linked together, Wolfram felt proud when Alan made no move to withdraw his embrace in shame, as Yuuri had done countless times before. With Wolfram as guide, and head held high, the affianced couple headed toward the main hall, past the grand staircase and onto the ballroom, illuminated by hundreds of candles and torches. Queen Cecile and the others spared no expense from the polished gold plates that lined the tables, to the heavy velvet red curtains on the windows looking out into the frosty autumn fall gardens. Furniture and chairs were plentiful. The castle was warm, free of unwanted drafts, sweetly fragrant, clean and orderly. All familiar faces of staff and family gathered to greet him, and the swell of emotions and nostalgia filled the prince’s heart, as he gave a long, deep sigh.

Wolfram was home.

That night at dinner, the Maou’s eyes followed Wolfram like hawk to prey, blood boiling slowly but surely each time the blonde beauty lavished his eyes and smiles to that Irrison man. Yet no one else seemed bothered--not Queen Cecile, Wolfram’s brothers, or even Greta who was to turn sixteen next season--all seemed to keep to their mannerisms, welcoming Irrison like part of the family.

Yet what could he do? He was the main host after all, the one who personally invited the couple, although his intentions were more personal, and he didn’t wish to cause Wolfram any embarrassment in front of his new fiancée. The mere word, the reality that he was no longer the fiancée, made the wine taste of bile due to his covetous inner rants, yet he rashly continued to ask for more of it. 

He couldn’t help feeling like this. He went through so much inner struggle only hours earlier to push past Yuuri’s desire to see Wolfram, yet as the moment progressed, so did the jealous rage, and the Maou fought his way back into the forefront. 

Earlier upon their arrival, Wolfram didn’t even glance up at Yuuri when the couple paid their respects to the Maou King, those jade eyes only kept to the man beside him; ever watchful as Irrison bowed respectfully, Yuuri not failing to notice Wolfram’s tight hold to Irrison’s arm. And, of course, the arrangement for the couple to have a bed of their own. He recalled the endless nights he and Wolfram would share their sleep in the same bed, to Yuuri’s dismay and constant objections. 

Now the thought of Wolfram sharing his bed with another…perhaps intimately—

Gentle laughter pulled the Maou from his thoughts, his eyes swiftly seeking Wolfram, who chattered in with the flow of a conversation he’d not been paying attention to. He couldn’t help but observer how Wolfram’s fingers remained twined to Irrison’s, obvious to everyone it was habitual of the couple. 

“Isn’t that right, my dear?” Irrison asked, turning Wolfram’s hand palm down, and kissing it, the public display affection forcing a blush on the Mazoku prince’s cheeks. 

“Please forgive our impropriety,” Wolfram said quickly, thought it was easily forgiven as everyone mutually began to give their approval claiming it was only natural and expected as a “normal” fiancée would do. Shaking his head discreetly, the Maou drowned himself in another glass of wine. 

Quietly having observed the entire scene of this, Murata said nothing, then after noting how late it has become, lifted his glass and said, “Well, friends, I’m off home for the night. To everyone’s good health in body and mind.”   
He drained the last bit of liquid on his goblet, got up and went out. As he did, he couldn’t help curling his lip in amusement when he caught the Maou’s eyes and frown directed at him as he passed by. He knew his friend understood the double meaning of his words, yet he couldn’t help wanting to say it, just to annoy the King, if only for a giggle.

Murata pulled his heavy padded cloak tightly to his body once stepping out of the castle. The world outside seemed to lie barren and lifeless before him, as if God himself had put it to sleep. Thin ice had frosted the grass and dirt roads all around. The sun was barely down, yet the grey winter winds slowly howled overhead, reflecting Murata’s mood inside. 

He had a good deal to think about, as he walked to his domain, for one thing, he vowed to keep a close watch on his friend, now more so meticulously with Wolfram present. He refused to let the opportunity for anything bad to happen to either Yuuri or Wolfram while the festivities transpired. And second, he needed to find a way of bringing Yuuri back from the Maou’s hold. 

Murata paused shortly and watched the sun finally go down, the heavens slowly fading into night as the first stars of the night slowly began to appear. He sighed again, his long black hair swaying with the wind, knowing full well he would have a long busy day tomorrow.

~*~

The night of the festival was magical and kaleidoscopic, the skies were a black covered blanket, brief cold winds blowing on the frosted pine trees, and the sweet scent of burning oak filled the castle grounds. Something was going to happen to Yuuri tonight, he could feel it in his bones. Whether the morrow brought happiness or regret, he knew for at least these few hours he would be bold, find Wolfram, and finally voice the feelings that were long over-due.

I’m going to talk to him, he thought, his boot tapping anxiously against the carpeted floor as he sat on his throne, eyes wondering about the crowded ballroom. He had finally suppressed the Maou for the moment, proving his eager willingness to see Wolfram more strongly than he thought. And he knew he’d have to talk to Wolfram soon before the Maou had any chance to take over again, he feared the Maou’s obsession with the prince would ruin any amenable conversation he planned to have with him. And Yuuri did not wish to part with his Wolfram in a bad manner again. Nay, not a second time. 

“Your Majesty?” the butler asked, it was his responsibility to announce any sudden order from the King. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” Yuuri dismissed quickly, hand swatting the butler away, his eyes roaming about the ballroom; windows and glass doors open and overlooking the colorful bon fires taking place outside. Even if it took all evening, somehow, Yuuri vowed, he’d talk to Wolfram before the night was through. 

Soon after the thought, his eye caught the prince’s golden hair flashing amongst the crowd of guests on the tables. As he observed, another waltz began and Wolfram sprinted to the dance floor with Alan following behind, an amused smile on the man’s lips. Wolfram pulled Alan into his arms, hips swaying and body moving sensually to the music. As Yuuri observed, he noticed how graceful Wolfram looked, how light he seemed on his feet, how princely and royal he presented himself as he twirled around the dance floor. Green eyes shining, his smile never-ending.

“How come he never danced like that with me?” Yuuri heard himself grumble in a low voice. Murata, who had been silently situated at Yuuri’s side, at that moment, claimed the profound pensive air Yuuri’s verbal thoughts produced.

“You never wanted to, Shibuya, you always rejected Wolfram or ran away, remember?” his friend said, knowing the way he procured the reality of the cruel truth irked both Yuuri and the Maou. He also suspected this to be the reason both Yuuri and the Maou avoided Murata recently, yet it had to be said, nonetheless. 

Yuuri didn’t bother to acknowledge Murata’s presence, instead his face contorted into a slight frown, never faltering his gaze toward Wolfram. His hands were firmly planted on both sides of arm rests, his chest heaving a bit, and back slightly leaning out of his chair. Clearing his throat, Murata’s eyes also followed the couple dancing happily, as well. 

“Wolfram has always been an excellent dancer. A requirement for all the royal princes, didn’t you know?”

Yuuri remained silent still, his hands unconsciously balling into fists as he watched Wolfram laugh and smile without care…in the arms of that man.

Wolfram, Yuuri thought, saddened with guilt. Did you ever smile like that when you were with me? 

~*~

The noise in the room became almost deafening with the chatter of the guests and music. Laughter of children echoed throughout the fields outside, the winter chill unbeknownst to anyone as the bonfires continued to be lit into blazing fires.

Alan’s arm was firm around Wolfram’s waist, dancing in an effortless waltz. He savored every tipsy playfulness Wolfram gave and flirted shamelessly with him. He’d randomly point out the gazes of other men that made Wolfram laugh and Alan jealous of their scrutinizing stares.

If only tonight would never end, Wolfram thought, humming inwardly to the music. If only Yuuri could’ve danced with him like this…held him close like this…if only… 

“I’ve wanted to dance with you like this,” he heard himself say. “Always…”

Alan twirled him in his arms, staring intently at the blonde beautiful Mazoku. “Anything you want, my love. Though you’re not quite steady on your feet tonight…”

“Do you disapprove?” Wolfram asked, his voice a bit slurred. 

“No,” came the somber reply, pulling Wolfram toward him, the prince twirling in place to the music. “It is understandable you should want to forget your cares and worries for one night.”

Wolfram paused, placing a hand on Alan’s shoulder to steady himself, the waltz music over. “Why do you say that?”

“I admit I forced you into this engagement. And I’ve long wondered if…”

“Yes?”

Alan gulped deeply before saying, “If you hate me.”

“What nonsense is this?”

“I’ve wondered many a night if you ever felt remorse toward me, for forcing you to marry me this way.”

Wolfram’s eyes widened, looking shocked by the words he knew Alan was about to utter. 

“I do not wish to keep you against your will—not after everything that’s happened between us. And I do not want to let myself get too attached to you—though I know it’s too late for that now…”

Wolfram gazed at him tenderly, taken aback at Alan’s confession. It had been enough to believe that Alan was attracted to Wolfram when his intentions had been a bit lecherous, and physical at the beginning, but now, he realized in awe, Alan’s interests in him had been serious. His mind barely dared to believe it, yet his heart couldn’t help but leap with joy, elating a warmth of a newfound feeling toward this man.

“Flee while you can, my love.” Alan said, pushing Wolfram only slightly away from him. “Stay in Shin Makoku, don’t look back and—”

“No!” Wolfram said quickly. He slid his arms around Alan’s neck and pressed a comforting kiss to his cheek. “All this time, I’ve wondered myself if there really is something between us and have been so fearful that maybe this was all…some beautiful illusion on my part.”

Wolfram closed his eyes, feeling wetness there, sniffling with an air of all the emotions swelling inside his heart and soul. He leaned his head on Alan’s chest, hiding his face. 

Alan stood still, wonder struck for a moment, before grazing his lips on the back of Wolfram’s ear and neck. Heart pounding out of his chest.

“I think it’s real, my dear,” he said. Wolfram could feel his face heat in embarrassment. 

“The truth is, m’lord,” he muffled quietly. “I’ve been alone, too.”

Wolfram felt Alan’s stare, and gathering his courage, Wolfram looked up. Alan leaned forward and as their lips met, Wolfram trembled; right hand stroking the strong line of Alan’s jaw, while the other hand ran his fingers through the wheat dark-blonde hair. 

With a low moan of desire, Alan slid his arm around Wolfram, shaping the contours of the prince’s slim waist, running his hands dangerously downward over Wolfram’s pert bottom. He fought to keep a rein on the passion only the green-eyed angel ignited in his blood. 

~*~

Yuuri winced and looked to the ground. He suddenly wished to be anywhere but here, front seat to the love induced couple he himself legally, formally, and willingly brought together. The annual bonfire festival held annually on November was supposed to be a celebration of all allied Kingdoms coming together. This year, it only seemed to bring him misery, if only to him. Not once he failed to notice how Wolfram thrived on Irrison’s every attention, watching the man with envy as he lavishly draped his hands all over Wolfram, feeling every curve and soft handles…

It was evident when they all had eaten dinner earlier, Wolfram’s loyalty and obvious devotion to his new fiancée and it pained him to see Wolfram smile proudly when he spoke of that man. How that man looked at Wolfram…enjoying every moment of it. And that kiss is what brought his anger to its peak, and Wolfram lavishing upon it with such vigor. Was it possible that man has already known Wolfram’s intimate warmth, his sensual body heat, those jade eyes he loved so begging for that man’s love in bed?

Then, Yuuri’s eye caught the glint of sparkle on the man’s ring-finger. 

It was unmistakable.

The gold band with an onyx pearl in between two green jade jewels—it was Yuuri’s ring, one Wolfram gave to him on his eighteenth birthday long ago. The one Yuuri himself rejected and gave back to Wolfram…

“I heard it was customary on Earth to gift this to a fiancée,” Wolfram’s voice echoed in his thoughts, from the time long ago. Wolfram’s eyes sparkling with joy and cheeks hued a slight pink as Wolfram opened the ring box, revealing the beautiful jewel. “I would very much like for you to wear it always, Yuuri.”

The blonde- beauty reached out to take Yuuri’s left hand. Yuuri swung his hand back, as though burned, earning a shocked gasp from Wolfram. 

“Sorry, Wolf,” Yuuri replied, rather coldly, turning away quickly, not bothering to look back. If he had, he would’ve seen Wolfram’s eyes glaze up in humiliation and unshed tears. 

Yuuri’s thoughts of the past pierced back to the present as Irrison’s gaze found his, head on Wolfram’s shoulder, as he danced lightly, holding tight to the blonde’s body. Irrison’s left hand lay languidly on Wolfram’s waist, the onyx stone winking at Yuuri, as though mocking him. 

My jewel, Yuuri thought. In the hands of another…

He gasped slightly, in shock of how his thoughts, those words holding double meaning in mind and heart.

My jewel…Wolfram…

Yuuri lurched up off his cold throne and thundered out of the ball, ignoring all mutual gasps about the room, all eyes on the raging King. He stomped down the corridor toward his bedroom, slamming every door and the world around him shut tight. 

The Great Sage stared passively after the King for a moment before turning to the nearest guards. 

“You two,” he ordered, voice low, gentle and discreet. “Follow his Majesty, stand guard outside any room he enters. Go, now.”

Looking up he noticed Wolfram’s eyes catch his among the bustling guests, his green eyes wide in question of the commotion surrounding them. Murata didn’t fail to notice Irrison’s tight grip on Wolfram’s waist, as though fearing Wolfram would go after the King himself, claiming to be worried. 

Murata sighed in irritation. Shinou, help us, that man Irrison has become a slave to your desperate need for love, Wolfram! And yours and Yuuri’s demise…

~*~

“The king is well,” Wolfram heard Murata announce, a calm and cheerful smile reassuring all guests, and upon his signal the music began again. As the commotion of the King’s sudden departure gradually lessened, he noticed Conrad turn to Gwendal saying, “I’ll be back,” just as he followed the path Yuuri had stormed off to. Gwendal muttered a soft, “Hmph,” in return, not moving from where he stood, making it obvious that love affairs and love quarrels were beyond his abilities to influence or comprehend. 

Knowing Conrad was at Yuuri’s side, Wolfram knew he had very little reason to worry, yet it remained on the back of his mind. He was so eager to ask Murata what was happening, but having Alan with him, Wolfram fayed a calm and collected composure, as Alan motioned for them to sit on their table, Alan’s hands clasped tightly to Wolfram’s waist. ‘Twas obvious to the prince that Irrison did not wish for him to leave his side, and Wolfram did not dare cause any form of prickling doubt on Irrison’s love for him by running after Yuuri. 

Clasping Irrison’s hand between his for internal courage, he willed himself to remain composed. He looked up at the man before him, smiling at him softly, and noted Irrison’s relief in his golden amber eyes. 

Perhaps time would work a miracle, turn his despair into contentment, yet sometimes allowing fate to rule was a grave mistake. He’d allowed Alan to affect him so, his moods, his kisses, especially his touch and yet…why was Yuuri still consuming his inner thoughts, worry, and his heart—

Nay!

Wolfram shook his head inwardly, his eyes averting the hall Yuuri had run off to, the people whispering all about, his family eyeing him every so often; It was almost suffocating. Perhaps it was a bad idea coming here, after all. One he should’ve protested more aggressively to long before making the decision of returning to his boy-hood home. Especially when no one knew of the new wee life growing within him, not his mother, brothers, not Yuuri, not even Alan…

Oh, I wish to get out of here!

Wolfram stood, somewhat abruptly, his chest heaving a bit, desperation clear in his face, knowing only he alone knew of his delicate condition. “I need some air…”

Alan, who had been watching him closely, noticed the sudden change in Wolfram, and his eyes quickly widened. “Are you all right?”

“M-Hm, I just…I don’t wish to be inside, it’s too stuffy.”

“All right, come. Let’s go outside.” Gathering Wolfram in his arms, concern apparent in his features, Alan drew the blonde out the ballroom and into the cold night air. 

~*~

Conrad knew the reason why his Godson needed the privacy of his solitude. Ever as gallant, Yuuri avoided making a scene whenever he could. Or when appearing out of control, he’d lock himself in his room, not coming out for days, and when he did, he’d be decently composed, although a bit ragged in the face. Tonight, though, was a rare exception, an episode that upon recently has become habitual, more often than before. No doubt it would be wise to leave well enough alone, but his concern for Yuuri compelled him to go see him, to make certain Yuuri was all right. 

Knocking on the door of Yuuri’s room, Conrad waited tensely for some response. Nothing. Frowning, Conrad knocked again. “Heika?” he called. “Can I come in?”

Not waiting a moment longer, Conrad opened the door a cautious crack, enough to peer inside. A small glow of the lamp filled the main bedroom with quiet amber light. Yuuri lay sprawled on the bed, belly down, his hair covering his face, arms and legs outstretched in a dramatic form.

“All I want,” Yuuri said at last, his voice muffled on the pillow. “Is to make this moment count…with Wolfram.”

Conrad sighed quietly as he closed the door behind him. As he approached the bed, he knew to choose his words carefully. “Some moments are only for now, although, we pay for the moments we take for granted forever.”

Yuuri fought the sudden assault of tears. His mind was beyond the capacity to untangle the emotions he fused within himself. He understood what Conrad had said, but consequences be damned. He grieved at finding himself out of control in this terrible, inevitable place that has become his own created nightmare. And he couldn’t find a way out of it, and that scared him the most.

“Maybe I can turn this around…do you think it still possible?”

“Nothing comes without effort,” Conrad said, sitting on the corner of the bed. “You have to make that moment happen, and if luck is with you, anything is possible.”

I have to make the moment happen…

Encouraged, Yuuri made the decision that he’d talk to Wolfram. Definitely. Tonight.

Author’s Note:   
Personally, the Murata and the Maou’s conversations (although short) had become my favorite scenes. I may be the only one to feel this way, I’m not sure. I hope I can continue to weave more conversations between them like this into the story, so I look forward to that.

The next two chapters are done, I just need to find the time to proofread them before I upload them, so please continue to be patient with me.


	8. Chapter Seven: One Night of Sin

WARNING: Explicit graphic content on this chapter. So, if you’re under underage, do your mental innocence a favor, and skip it, again.

Chapter Seven: One Night of Sin

It was long past midnight, and the torches were burning down. Guests and village visitors swarmed back to their homes, some in carriages, others huddled in groups walking back toward the towns. Some sang, some scuffled and disputed mildly in their drunken haze, while others took advantage of the shadows to indulge in bold touches and lingering kisses. Those who’d come with children had left for home hours ago, yet the musicians continued to play near the dying bonfires, freely playing a low gentle ambience tune to match the late-night evening. 

Like a drowning man, Yuuri had to make his way up for air as desire, hot and overwhelming, threatened to drag him down to depths he had never heretofore explored in his youth. Here he was, in Wolfram’s room, overlooking the sleeping couple on the bed. Though Yuuri’s eyes fixated intently upon one person. His Wolfram, laying there, breathing softly, belly rising in sync with his breath, rosy lips smacking softly in sleep.  
Wolfram, you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen…

Breath paused, Yuuri leaned his body with such slow precision as he gradually stretched out his right hand to Wolfram, knowing he’d have to do this in one fast motion. With quick, easy effort Yuuri pressed his hand hard against Wolfram’s mouth as the prince woke, startled and in panic. 

The blonde beauty’s arms flayed around, clutching Yuuri’s wrists, eyes widening in shock as he looked up at Yuuri’s familiar face in the darkness, the hand on his mouth pressing hard, preventing any sound from escaping. Once Yuuri felt Wolfram calm down, he let go. Wolfram shot up immediately from the bed, quickly turning to look beside him, relief pooling his features when he saw his fiancée still in deep sleep. 

“What are you doing here?” Wolfram said, his voice below a whisper, mainly mouthing the words. Green eyes glancing about as if to reassure himself he was indeed in his room. And that Yuuri was also in his room. In the middle of the night, standing boldly beside Wolfram’s bed, and with Wolfram’s fiancée sleeping peacefully at his side.

“I need to speak with you,” Yuuri said, voice husky, and one knee resting next to Wolfram’s hip on the bed. As he leaned teasingly lower to Wolfram’s face, the Maou’s features appeared, eyes a pitch blackness, hair lengthening, and voice deepening. “I need you to know how much I’ve longed to see you again.”

Wolfram trembled. 

The man he’d so longed for in both life and in his dreams, was pressing close to him, and it evoked a blazing thrill more than any fantasy Wolfram ever imagined. One he had hoped, after giving Alan his everything, would have long been dissipated. Yet, it seemed he was wrong. And the fact both saddened and angered him. Not a comfortable mix of emotion. One he’s had too much of.

Lips hovering close to his, Wolfram gasped, lifting his hands to gently press Yuuri’s chest, pausing the Maou’s sudden descent on him.

“You’ve to go,” Wolfram whispered urgently, ignoring the heat rising within him. “We’ll talk on the morrow.”

“No,” came the Maou’s quick reply. Wolfram stared, surprised at Yuuri’s boldness, the Maou’s intent gaze looking down defiantly at him. Almost as if daring Wolfram to try to make him leave.

Narrowing his eyes for a moment, Wolfram turned to glance at Alan again, who continued his profound sleep. His bare chest rising slowly, wheat blonde hair splayed out on the pillows, his mouth slightly parted, and those firm muscled toned arms that held him so gently…Wolfram stared in mesmerized awe, only to flinch slightly when he heard the Maou growl softly behind him. Yes, growl. 

Fearing for Alan’s safety and the possibility of him rousing, Wolfram quickly pressed his fingers on Yuuri’s lips. The Maou’s countenance softened at once, and he was silenced immediately, staring directly into Wolfram’s twin jades. As though by hypnotism, Wolfram lifted himself from the bed, snatching his thick nightie coverlet from the corner of the bed, keeping his fingers pressed on Yuuri’s mouth and forcing the Maou to silently back away from the room, and out onto the hallway. 

Thinking it was best to not do this inside the castle for fear of being seen or overheard, Wolfram led them both outside. The sudden cold air chilled Wolfram as he quickly drew his warm nightie coverlet over him. The musicians and the few stragglers were gone, leaving behind empty tables, chairs and slow dying charcoal oak of what was once the bonfires. 

Good.

Choosing a darken, abundant wooded clearing at the edge of the castle gardens, Wolfram turned to the Maou, and slapped him.

The Maou had closed his eyes at the sudden action, his face and neck turned to the side, left cheek reddened. When he opened them to look at Wolfram, Yuuri’s gentle face graced him, hair shortening, and big brown eyes staring quietly at him. 

“Now you choose to understand my feelings?” Wolfram said at length, his hot breath animating a cool puff of white cloud from the cold temperature. 

“Yes,” Yuuri whispered quietly. “Now I understand.”

Wolfram crossed his arms about his chest, looking at him in anger and defiance. Willing himself to remain so no matter what would happen. 

“It’s too late, now,” Wolfram said. “You chose to love me too late, Yuuri. And it’s all your fault!”

“Yes,” Yuuri nodded, sadly. “It is. Please, forgive me?”

“No,” Wolfram huffed back. Yuuri reached for him, but Wolfram backed away, Yuuri’s expression more piteous with every touch Wolfram revoked.

“Do you hate me, Wolf?”

Wolfram felt a knot in his throat, not sure his emotions could be contained for long, hearing at how sincer and melancholic Yuuri’s voice sounded, his words pricking his still mending heart. 

“I do!” he lied, stubbornly. “I hate you, Yuuri!”

Yuuri reached for Wolfram again, hands gripping tight to Wolfram’s wrist. Wolfram flayed about, and stopped just as quickly, worried for his delicate condition. He continued to struggle yet not so aggressively so as not to cause unnecessary harm to his body.

“You lie, Wolf! I know I hurt you and you wish to hurt me, but I know you still love me!”

“No!”

“Please, don’t go away again.”

“It wasn’t my choice, it was yours!”

“And I’ve hated myself for it every day since!”

“Good! Now get away from me! I’m pregnant, Yuuri!”

Yuuri flinched. The world suddenly stilling. God, no. Why?

Yuuri released Wolfram, lowering his arms, as he felt his heart crumble to pieces, not daring to believe it. 

“Wolf…are you sure?” Yuuri couldn’t help but ask, his eyes glazed and distant.

Wolfram felt his face warm in anger. “Of course, I’m sure! I wouldn’t lie about this! Alan is the first man my body’s known—”

Yuuri stopped his words with a fierce kiss. In the nick of time Yuuri caught Wolfram’s hand as the prince raised his hand to strike him yet again. Wolfram closed his eyes at their first kiss, the cold around them suddenly becoming warm, time seeming to still, and the wind deafening the sounds of rising pleasure of the moment, as Wolfram’s hand lowered.

I swore I’d give you up, Wolfram thought, his mouth opening, moaning wantonly as Yuuri eagerly lavished upon it. Yet, in truth, you’d always been my weakness, even now…

Wolfram shivered as his sensitive body reacted, heating the center of his being, igniting the profound need to be touched, filled and taken. As the cold chill air continued to drop, Wolfram felt tears gradually pool softly on his lashes.

I should have tried to stay away from you, much harder…

With a smack of lips, Yuuri pulled back, panting. Wolfram’s mouth swollen, and cheeks a pink hue.

“The more I look at you, the more I touch you, the harder it gets,” Yuuri whispered, softly thumbing Wolfram’s wet cheeks. Shocking both, Wolfram reached down to put a firm hand on Yuuri’s clothed manhood, his palm kneading the organ to its firm potency.

“Yes,” Wolfram panted, his hands swiftly pulling Yuuri’s phallus out with heated urgency, lost in desperate craving for sex, and knowing well the temptation would be impossible to resist, now that they’ve both crossed the forbidden border of their hidden desires, long over-due. “The harder it gets.”

Yuuri couldn’t help it. He shoved the gown up the blonde’s belly, pulled the creamy legs up, lifting Wolfram, bracing the Mazoku prince against the garden’s stone wall. The sudden inner question to why Wolfram was not wearing underwear beneath his apparel was cast aside as Yuuri filled him in one deep thrust. Wolfram’s cry was swallowed by Yuuri’s quick mouth on his, the wetness of his newly pregnant body easing the penetration of the well-endowed Maou. It only took a few quick strokes and Wolfram came immediately, tightening around him with a trembling orgasm, yet his phallus and the Maou’s phallus remained achingly hard even after Wolfram’s first wave of orgasm ended.

Wolfram kissed Yuuri noisily and sinfully, playing with Yuuri’s tongue as Wolfram rode him eagerly to completion. He surged up, then sank down on him, riding the wave of pleasure, and when Yuuri’s sudden peak came, Wolfram sank his teeth through the fabric of Yuuri’s shoulder. Wolfram’s hands clung to Yuuri’s long black hair, and quickly looking down Yuuri’s face, Wolfram realized the Maou had surfaced in the middle of their sexual tryst. 

In their reckless hunger for more, the Maou lowered Wolfram gently and bent him low to face the stone wall, guiding Wolfram’s hands to touch the wall. He then lifted the nightie high above the beauty’s back, tongue licking at the sight of the Mazoku’s plump pale bottom. Wolfram’s perineum wide from the rough penetration, pink and leaking. He took himself in hand, guiding the head to Wolfram’s entrance and took the blonde from behind in quick hard thrusts. Wolfram arched his back, the Maou’s hands gripping his hips, quickening his pace, ravishing his Wolfram in a raw, min-numbing bliss of their sex. 

Wolfram groaned Yuuri’s name, quivering violently as he rode the Maou’s enormous cock and another wave of orgasm. “Oh, yes. Don’t stop.”

“No, my pet, never.”

Wolfram grinded his backside against him, slapping his bottom wildly and noisily on Yuuri’s groin eager to elicit another orgasm, and when it did, Wolfram’s legs trembled. Both damp with cold sweat, the Maou groaned verbally, clasping his mouth to Wolfram’s neck as he came inside Wolfram once more, his hips pumping lazily as the last of his pleasure burst inside the prince. 

The Maou sighed deeply, holding Wolfram close, shocked at what had transpired and angry at every bit of obvious experience Wolfram had on sex. They stayed that way, Wolfram’s legs spread, Yuuri’s hands under Wolfram’s gown, both breathing slowly with Yuuri still inside him. Wolfram allowed the Maou to rest his head on his back, feeling Yuuri’s hand caress his soft swollen belly with every breath. 

Wolfram’s pregnant belly was only shy by ten weeks or so…

If only for a moment Yuuri dared to believe that Wolfram was his, and that the child growing in Wolfram’s belly was theirs, an innocent, beautiful creature of their love. He was going to say it, and nothing on this world would stop him, even though he knew the words would only make things worse.

“I love…” Yuuri whispered against Wolfram’s ear. “I lov—”

“Amused yourself with me? You rapacious son of a—” Wolfram cried, green eyes flashed in fire and tears. He’d gone too far then, and they both knew it.

“Behave yourself, my foul tempered angel,” Yuuri whispered, as Wolfram nervously composed himself, straightening the gown, and his hair. “What else can I say?”

Wolfram slowly made his way back toward the castle, he could no more move away from Yuuri than he could fly with his bottom hurting and leaking. His heart pounding in his ears, breaths coming in trembling gasps, and the cold feeling of guilt, and sadness bit to his bones. 

“I hate you,” Wolfram sobbed. “Oh, I hate you so much…”

Yuuri’s arms embraced him from behind in an instant. It was the last thing either expected, Yuuri’s mouth hard on Wolfram’s neck, but the greatest shock was that Wolfram reached up and kissed Yuuri’s cheek. Kissed Yuuri, knowing what they just did. Then he asked the questions that had forever plagued him since the first day he left Yuuri’s side, knowing well that once they were out in the open, he’d be inconsolable. 

“Why couldn’t you have wanted me this way before? You knew my feelings for you,” Wolfram sniffled. “Why waste years of my love and devotion to you and only now you seek…my everything? Why did you give me away?”

Yuuri’s lips trembled, arms tightening as Wolfram struggled from his embrace, wetness staining his own cheeks. 

“I don’t know…” he admitted. “I regretted everything as soon as you left, but what could I do?”

What could he do?! Wolfram pulled himself away from Yuuri, the tenderness of the moment quickly making way to rage.

“You could’ve brought me back! Before I accepted my fate and fell in love with another!”

“You don’t love him, Wolf…!” Yuuri’s tone full of obvious denial.

“Of course, I do. He’s given me everything you never wanted to give to me—unashamed love! It’s all I ever wanted from you.”

“And you have it—” Yuuri reached out to touch the beautiful blonde, but Wolfram drew further away. 

“I’ve a husband now, Yuuri!” Wolfram sobbed. “And I’m having his child!”

The words pricked at Yuuri’s chest as he gasped another sob of sadness. “Wolf…”

“I love him, Yuuri…” Wolfram confessed, green eyes wide and glazed with tears.

“Don’t tell me that…!”

“Leave me be, Yuuri,” Wolfram said, his voice now more controlled and new-found courage finally surfacing. “I won’t be coming back, so please…let me be happy without you.”

Yuuri sniffled again, body trembling, not wanting to let go of Wolfram a second time. And yet, the cruel reality of it was that Wolfram was right. He won’t be coming back to Shin Makoku. There was no place for Wolfram in a world without Alan Alberic of Irrison, now. And there was no place for Yuuri in a world with Wolfram, either. Not anymore. Nothing could quench the guilt that now burned in Yuuri’s blood.

Do not hesitate, Wolfram thought to himself. Do not cry anymore. Mean it this time, and do not come back.

Wolfram turned around once more, Yuuri staring at him with glittering brown eyes. He inhaled deeply, drunk with emotion, and said thickly, “Good-bye, Yuuri.”

Wolfram covered his ears as the sounds of Yuuri’s wailing cries filled the night.

~*~

After what seemed a long night of dancing and frivolity, none of the leftover guests or even the main servants at the Shin Makoku castle were inclined to awaken before noon the next day, except for a small dedicated group who gathered outside, quietly cleaning the grounds. As Wolfram sipped from a hot cup of milk tea next to the open window of his bedroom, he inhaled the cool, crisp air of the early morning. He tried not to think of Yuuri or what transpired between them last night, but that was impossible. Yet, he could not completely blame Yuuri for that, either. The sin was committed on their mutual lust, both sharing equal blame.

It both saddened and angered Wolfram at what Yuuri had done and what Wolfram had allowed to happen. Angered him because he couldn’t understand why, now that Wolfram was clearly off limits, Yuuri decided he loved Wolfram and wanted nothing more than to take him back. And saddened at the fact that, now more than ever, Wolfram would have to finally say goodbye to Yuuri, and not come back at all this time. 

Aware of Alan’s quiet figure drawing close to him, Wolfram discreetly composed himself, forcing his deep thoughts away as Alan took Wolfram’s offered hand, kissing it and gently smiled at him.

“Did you rest well last night?” he asked, hair lightly tussled from just having woken up. 

“No.”

Alan’s eyes drew onto a concerned frown, his hand retaining Wolfram’s own longer than all the times before. “Still not feeling better?”

Wolfram shook his head. 

Last night, as we slept, Yuuri was here and we went out to talk and…

Wolfram paused his thoughts, considering how much of the encounter he should describe out loud, or better yet, NOT describe at all. Yet, he so wished to do it, thinking if he did then the guilt gnawing inside might subside…maybe. It was very much possible Alan would not believe the child to be his if Wolfram decided to confess, and the sin would surely cause a strain on Alan’s love for him. And Wolfram did not want that to happen at all.  
Wolfram met Alan’s golden eyes, concern apparent on his features as Wolfram reached up to lightly caress Alan’s jaw, lips, and cheeks. 

Would you forgive me if I told you the truth? Would you still love me the same?

“Alan…” Wolfram paused again, his stomach suddenly feeling queasy.

“Yes?”

“Let’s go home, please.”

~*~

A quiet stillness hung upon the sudden grey misty day, as Yuuri watched Alan’s carriage preparing to leave Shin Makoku with Wolfram inside, sitting huddled in a warm thick cloak. He caught a glimpse of Wolfram’s pale, hurt face when he passed by, but Wolfram did not acknowledge him, coldly looking anywhere but him. The prince’s flat gaze twisted the knife in Yuuri’s heart as he couldn’t help but feel how achingly familiar the scene felt. And just like back then, he once again stubbornly refused to accept that he had lost Wolfram permanently. The carriage paused in the courtyard, waiting for the guards to pull back the tall iron gates. And just like before, Yuuri fought the urge to run after Wolfram. He held his ground firmly, his eyes narrowed with guardness and concentrated intensity. 

No one besides he and Wolfram knew of their night of sin, so there was very little reason to worry about that getting out. And Yuuri was sure Wolfram would not dare say a word either, especially with Alan looking after him.  
As the great iron gates of Shin Makoku creaked open, the coachman flicked the whip over the horses’ backs and the carriage was once more in motion. Yuuri clenched his jaw and held himself back, swallowing down the lump of emotion in his throat as it bore Wolfram away from him.

He watched the carriage as it crossed the wooden bridge and climbed the hill out of the valley. Even after it disappeared, he still stood there in the bleak grey dawn, his chin to chest, the cold stinging his cheeks, his hands thrust down his coat pockets. He closed his eyes, then after a moment he lifted his brooding stare, his expression hardening and eyes now a shallow blackness as his long shoulder black hair wisped with the cold air. 

I’ll get him back, the Maou assured himself. Somehow, I will.

Noticing the King’s sudden physical change, Conrad and Murata exchanged quiet glances. Murata looked back at Yuuri, now the Maou, as he stood there, regal back straight and ready. Ready for what, though?

Murata sighed quietly. Already knowing the answer, and already dreading what the future may hold for all of them.


	9. Chapter Eight: Suspicions

Chapter Eight: Suspicions

Alan stared into the fire as Wolfram slept, the blonde beauty curled against him smelled of roses and now the scent of sex. Emotions he had not expected to feel for the Mazoku prince, surprised him. After so many nights of vigorous sex, it was only to be expected. Born human into a demon’s world, Alan knew some male demons were capable of childbearing. At first, the thought of bringing a child into the world screamed to his bachelor front, yet as time spend with Wolfram prolonged, his heart’s desire to have a family with only Wolfram seemed right. 

Wolfram stirred in his arms, and he loosened his hand that had been caressing Wolfram’s soft protruding belly, afraid he’d held the angel too tight. Only, he didn’t want to let Wolfram go, ever.

“Alan?” Wolfram’s voice was sleepy and warm. 

“Hmm?”

“Marry me…?”

Alan could not speak. He could not move. Wolfram turned in his arms, until he faced him. Wolfram was waiting for him to say something.

“Are you sure, my dear?” he asked. 

“Yes.”

“I’m happy you wish to marry me, on your own accord, and not because of mere contract or…obligation.”

“Will you, then?”

“Sweeting, of course I’ll marry you. Is on the morrow too soon?”

“We cannot so soon, I’ve to regale my joy to my family at Shin Makoku. I sent the pregnancy announcement the morning of yesterday.”

Alan caressed Wolfram’s bottom lip with his thumb. “I was only teasing. We can marry soon after the passing of Christmas Day. Would you like that--a winter ball?”

“Yes, very much.” Wolfram’s hand wrapped between Alan’s legs, and soon worked his fiancée to arousal.

“Do you want me, again?” he asked.

“I want you, Alan. I need your love deep inside me.”

Lifting Wolfram’s leg over his hip, Alan entered swiftly. Wolfram sighed contently, writhing his bottom on the hard organ embedded inside him. 

“You’ve ensnared me, my love. Completely.” Alan whispered, kissing Wolfram on the lips and panting as he began to thrust deeply. “I love you.”

~*~

The week flew by, and the news of Wolfram’s pregnancy was much too joyous a news to wait for lady Cecile who, with much vigor and willingness to see her pregnant son, quickly made the trip herself to the Lands of Irrison. Wolfram’s brothers followed after, along with King Yuuri, who made sure to keep himself at a courteous distance from the couple, especially Wolfram. 

Regaling her son with many gifts, Cecile’s joy and pride could not be contained as she squealed to every item Wolfram unwrapped, from Gwendal’s knitted booties, to Conrad’s soft baby blankets, and Cecile’s baby suits all trimmed in bows or ruffles. It was a most glorious day for Wolfram, the time passed in a warm and joyous spirit, and the pregnant Mazoku enjoyed all the moments with his family gathered around him. In the sunshine of the moment his guilt of his one night of sin with Yuuri now seemed distant and foolish. And he regaled his joy with endless smiles, Yuuri observing his beautiful prince quietly on the sidelines. Not wishing to put out the light, he forced himself to keep his smile screwed tight to his face, feigning composure. Yet, only his soul knew of the raining storm of sadness and loneliness within him. And all too quickly, Yuuri announced his sudden departure and he, Conrad and Gwendal followed the gloomy king on the journey back to Shin Makoku. 

The evening had turned chilly, winds gradually picking up, Yuuri sighed quietly as he pulled the curtains shut and lit the lamp inside the carriage. A small wicker basket sat beside him, filled with food the cook at Shin Makoku had packed for his journey. It remained untouched. His thoughts lingered briefly on the day Wolfram was to be sent to Irrison lands for the first time, he had ordered then for the chefs to prepare a similar food basket for Wolfram’s journey…

Yuuri tried to picture the smiling blonde prince looking at him, but all he could see was Wolfram’s every attention leaning away. Above him, blocking out the radiant light of all that was Wolfram, was that man, Irrison. Kissing the beautiful Mazoku, holding him, making love to him, impregnating him…

Yuuri slapped the wicker basket, the contents sprawling to the carpeted floor as the carriage continued trotting down the cold dirt road. 

No one spoke as they left Irrison’s castle and soon moved into more open area of the road leading to the only village in Irrison land that was set only miles on the edge of rolling farmland. One couldn’t see much beyond a few feet, and the lighting from the few settlements did very little to light the path. Gwendal observed adamantly in silence. The horses’ hooves clanking on the loose rocks and twigs snapping was the only sound in what seemed more of a ghost town. The lack of noise and people around the village were odd--not many animals grazed the pens, and the second village just beyond was completely abandoned. And having seen the wealth of furnishings inside Irrison’s castle, the bountiful feast they were given at dinner, with no guards, no security…Gwendal frowned, letting the strangeness of this raise questions, doubting everything he thought he knew before, and suspect a most unsettling premonition. 

Conrad’s head leaned to one side, having observed Gwendal’s hard expressions turn grim as they rode behind the demon king’s carriage. Yuuri’s silence was understandable, but Conrad felt an unease coming from his older brother in front of him, noticed the stiffness of his back and his gaze hard with unperturbed concentration. Snapping the reins gently, his horse trotted forward until it walked in pace next to Gwendal’s black stallion.

“Something wrong, Gwendal?” Conrad asked, keeping his voice quiet from the carriage that held Yuuri inside. It took a moment for his brother to speak, and when he did, Gwendal made sure to mask his voice low as well.

“This is the first time I’ve been to Irrison land,” he said. “Such poor country and its people not many. Makes me wonder where all his wealth comes from.”

“His inheritance of course, if I recall,” Conrad replied, nonchalantly. “From his grandmother, isn’t that what you said the paperwork stated?”

“Hmph,” was all Gwendal responded, pulling the reins and quickening his pace home. 

~*~

This night passed by more slowly and more quietly than others. The announcement of Wolfram’s pregnancy radiated much joy to both kingdom and the family. Yet Conrad knew for certain in his heart of hearts, that only one person among them felt a bit…different. He knew what the problem was. 

The heavy wooden door to the Maou’s office creaked audibly as Conrad stepped inside, and quietly observed Yuuri sitting in the middle of the darken room, lighted only by its crackling fireplace. Yuuri’s head was sprawled dramatically upon the surface of the table, scattered glasses of strong liquor around him. It was obvious he’d been drowning himself in it, like all grief-stricken, guilt-ridden and self-tormented men who sought to ease the pain with it, if only temporarily. A pain, that even when sober, remained; like a stubborn thorn trapped in skin.

“Your Majesty?” Conrad whispered, closing the door behind him.

“Yuuri,” the Heika replied, voice hoarse, smacking his lips, and turning his head to face his Godfather. Cheeks were tear stained, eyes bloodshot, hair tussled, clothes rumpled—the pitiful epitome of any drunk man. No one had ever seen Yuuri drunk before, he’d choose to quietly lock himself into a room with a bottle or two, and reappear two or three days later, pale, unsteady, but still sharp-witted and perfectly groomed. The loss of Wolfram was obviously the cause of such episodes—it had become a recent pattern in Yuuri’s life, sad as it was. Yet, tonight was a rarity.

Upon scrutinizing in more precise detail, Conrad noticed Murata in the corner library of the room. He’d been keeping Yuuri company, under his watchful eye, quietly and calmly while reading a book on his lap. When their eyes met, he shrugged his shoulders at Conrad, as though mentally saying, “He won’t talk to me.”

Conrad took the empty seat in front of Yuuri, a prolonged silence followed shortly before Yuuri finally decided to speak. 

“You saw him, too, didn’t you?” he asked, head not lifting from the table. “You saw Wolfram?”

Conrad nodded gently. “Yes. I did.”

The mental image of the blonde, glowing with fertility, joy radiating his entire being. A weak smile spread slowly upon Yuuri’s lips. “He looked so beautiful…”

“Yes,” Conrad replied. “He looked very happy, too.”

He knew adding those last words would bring more pain to his Godson, yet it had to be said, and sure enough the pain shot brutally to the core. Murata and Conrad observed as Yuuri sobbed, quietly at first-- shoulders trembling, hands slowly fisting--then as all emotion sank in, he began to wail miserably. 

He was tired, so tired of being the faithful witness to the love Wolfram had for this man, yet in his heart Yuuri knew to keep quiet for Wolfram’s happiness, and he vowed to do it, no matter how much it pained him, how it suffocated him, to the point he felt he’d die out of love for Wolfram. No more memories of Wolfram’s body warming the solitude in his heart, repeating Wolfram’s name like an endless song in his head, pretending to have Wolfram’s love, if only in his dreams. 

The glasses rattled as Yuuri thumped his fists on the table, tears flowing more profusely, then lifting his head, he took in quick, shaken breaths, cheeks tear stained, hands griping tightly to his tousled black hair, eyes wondering aimlessly in desperate need for any form of salvation. 

Gritting his teeth, he wished at that moment for time to revert back, swearing this would be his first and last mistake, promising endlessly he’d cherish Wolfram this time, though he knew it was in vain. There was no such thing. His mistake was set in stone, forever to plague him. He loved Wolfram too late, it seemed--that was the cruel truth of it, and now he knew, with all the weight of hopeless desperation, he had to say goodbye.

Once again, Yuuri let his head fall onto the table, tapping his forehead gently on the cold surface, lips trembling, and sniffling loudly.

I’m sorry, Wolfram, he thought miserably. I’m so sorry for everything I wouldn’t give you…I’m sorry for everything I couldn’t tell you.

~*~  
A blunt augury of winter blew the few glided leaves still clinging to the trees. The winter markets in Irrison land were larger than Wolfram expected due to traveling merchants and passing foreigners around the main road. Sellers quickly sold out of hot meat pastries, sending go-for boys to any nearby taverns for more wine and hot malt drinks. 

Pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders, Wolfram leaned out the window carriage, as Alan overlooked the market and its people on his stallion outside. It was one of Irrison’s daily routines, and today Wolfram had convinced him to take him along, despite Alan’s resistance. Yet he knew well he’d not waste this chance to at last observe the village that would soon be his responsibility as well. On his first day to Irrison land he had noticed the poor dwellings and made a note in his leather-bound pocket journal with ideas to improve them. His thoughts wondered aimlessly on recruiting young men for future soldiers, choosing management positions to overlook the farming, and the posts Wolfram planned on settling around the village so as Alan won’t do it as often and if he did, he would have escorts. 

With my help, this land will prosper, Wolfram thought, hopefully. I’ll make sure this land is worth salvaging and more people will come to work the land and hopefully call this home.

Wolfram continued his inspections from the carriage window, several old women stood at the common well, buckets in hand, paying more attention to each other than the squealing children playing around them. As the children became aware of Irrison’s approach, their squeals faded, and the women turned to stare when Alan dismounted his horse. Wolfram was ready to question Alan of the reason they halted when Alan said, “I need to supervise the sales from the farmland. Stay here, please.”

Alan quickly disappeared amongst the crowd, who parted a path for their lord and master as he approached. As soon as he was well out of sight, Wolfram quickly dismounted the small, warm carriage and walked to the nearest bread-maker, oblivious to the stares. His stomach rousing noise at the anticipation of food. Paying the baker, Wolfram moved away from the crowds, maintaining his distance near the carriage yet close to the food stands. He paused for a bit to bite into the soft, warm pastry, chewing its tangy sweetness, eyes already seeking out a hot drink stand, next. The need to fill his hunger suddenly more a priority than going back to the safety of the carriage.  
A woman’s work-worn hands landed softly on Wolfram’s shoulder. He turned to see a short, round female, gray streaking her otherwise brown hair.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, Your Highness, but will you be Lord Irrison’s bride-to-be?”

Pride and joy mingled in Wolfram’s toothy smile, his hand quickly resting on his swollen belly. “I am. We’re to be married close after Christmas Day.”

Instead of the expected congratulatory, the old woman’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh, heaven forbid, no! I’d advise for you not to.”

Wolfram almost laughed at the woman’s horror, but managed restraint, thinking perhaps the woman was teasing. Wolfram forced a weak smile, shaking his head slightly dismissively. “And why not?”

“Many come to be Irrison’s bride—they never come out of the castle—that we’ve seen. Only word of their sudden death.” 

The noise of the bustling market stilled in Wolfram’s head. Only the rapid beat of his heart fought to pound out of his chest. 

“They?”

The woman nodded discreetly, moving her eyes around them, as if frightened someone would see or overhear them. Perhaps, also realizing she probably shouldn’t have given in the urge to talk to him, yet this didn’t stop her from continuing. 

“You are the first one we’ve seen walk about longer than a few months. And the first one to give him a child.”

“The first?”

“Of four, Your Highness.”

“…that’s not…it cannot be true. How—”

The woman’s body jumped suddenly, quickly turning around and disappearing among the rabid crowd of sellers and tents. The sound of clanging sword and chain mail reached Wolfram’s ears, turning to see Alan approaching him in quick strides. 

“I told you to stay in the carriage,” he said, his voice slightly out of breath but in a firm tone. Wolfram placed a hand protectively on his stomach, quickly composing himself. Feeling all the warmth that was in him grow cold and uncomfortable. 

“I was hungry…”

Alan’s demeanor softened as he followed Wolfram’s hand softly rubbing the swell of his belly. “Come. Let’s get you to Miggs and inside the warm.”

That night in bed, the sound of the crackling fire seemed to soothe the pensive thoughts in Wolfram’s head. Only a bit. Not a word did he say of what transpired between him and the village woman, and he felt very much conflicted over it. A persisting unrest that left him in doubt and with questions he so longed to hear the answers to. 

“You’ve been unusually quiet,” came Alan’s voice suddenly, who had been curling Wolfram’s hair in between his fingers. “Did anyone speak to you?”

Not turning to look at him, Wolfram forced his voice to sound as composed as he could sound, feigning ignorance. “No.”

“That so? What of the woman who approached you?”

“Wanted spare coin—I didn’t have much left after I used it to buy food.”

“Hmm.”

Wolfram was sure Alan’s questions would persist, but thankfully they didn’t. Alan fell in a deep sleep, holding Wolfram close, yet for the Mazoku prince, sleep was difficult to come by. His thoughts wondered over everything the woman in the village had told him. He knew not to trust in rumors, yet her words haunted him with an unease that had him making up his mind to fix it. He’d write a letter, not to Yuuri this time, instead to the man he knew in his family would do so discreetly and a man he’d come to trust.

~*~

Gwendal was a man known for his strategic skills and having known the ways of battle and experienced his share of wars, he knew to trust his gut instincts when the need to survive was strong. By heavens, no matter how perfect it all went in the end, no matter how advantageous the match has been for both sides and no matter that Irrison was the only candidate Wolfram’s brothers unanimously voted to become Wolfram’s new betrothed; having observed Irrison’s land and its people left Gwendal with an uneasy plaguing torment that something was not right.

And for Wolfram’s part, who seemed perfectly tranquil on the day he was to be taken to Irrison, ready and willing to marry whom his brother’s chose; Gwendal was sure Wolfram would refuse knowing he’d be given into matrimony to one he did not love. And Gwendal felt it his duty to find the truth now, knowing he was the one who organized all the paperwork Yuuri insisted he take care of when finding Wolfram a legitimate husband. 

“Damn,” Gwendal hissed under his breath, eyes wondering over the sea of scattered papers on his desk. All the right paperwork was legitimate. Each one signed, testimonies of Irrison’s monetary inheritance seemed legal, as well. Yet the thorn-like unease persisted, prickling at him, unyielding. One he knew he had to remove and quickly. 

Too restless to sit still, Gwendal rose from his desk and prowled over the window. Pushing the curtain aside, he gazed out the valley and distant towns, blanketed in white fresh snow. Then, determination filled his face. This could not wait ‘till morning. He needed to ask questions, personally. Questions that needed answers, and it needed to be set forth, tonight! He let the curtain fall and went to change his clothes. 

Recalling past experiences, he removed his princely, royal garments and gold cuffs and dressed in his most ordinary-looking robes fit for a commoner. He put a bit of money in his pockets, then went to the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a velvet-lined oaken box. He opened it and withdrew a black metal pistol that Conrad had brought him from Earth in their youth. He held it up for a moment, admiring it in the light of the candle. The item seemed more of a work of art than a weapon; the butt was engraved with his initials. A fine touch. 

It may be useful around those who had means to strip a Mazoku’s power…

Tucking the elegant, deadly weapon into his boot, he donned a shapeless, hooded, heavy cloak, then led himself quietly down the kitchens and opened a wooden pantry on the wall, pulling out a cold breast of meat and cut two hefty pieces of white loaf. He wrapped the piteous ration in a soft cloth, and pocketed the items in a carrying sack, along with a handful of nuts and berries and a red apple, knowing this mission would be much too important to waste time pausing for grub in some random eatery bar. 

Pulling his cloak to shadow his face with it, he sneaked out the kitchen door, behind the courtyard, making his way to the stables and quickly readied and mounted his horse. His heart began to pound as his breath hitched from the wintery cold, growing adrenaline elicited toward the coming mission. Looking back, his thoughts lingered swiftly to the idea of letting someone know of this hasty journey. Knowing better, he shook his head, and turned his sights on the road ahead, his gloved hands gripping the reins.

‘Twas best he did this alone. 

Pulling the reins of his horse, the animal burst into a quick gallop, easily cutting short distance from the castle and onward to the lands of Irrison. Inhaling the cold breath of midnight, Gwendal felt his heart sink. He dreaded what the investigation of Irrison may reveal (if his suspicions were correct) and it frightened him to think it may have already put his youngest brother in danger. 

Shaking his head, he told himself to first let the investigation speak for itself. Though he very much hoped he was wrong about his suspicions--for Wolfram’s sake, his future niece or nephew, Yuuri; everyone. 

Shinou, let me be wrong, he thought. Please, let me be wrong.


	10. Chapter Nine: The Resurrectionist

Author's Note~ Merry Christmas to all faithful readers and talented writers out there. Be patient, be safe and Happy Holidays. Enjoy!

Chapter 9: The Resurrectionist

“Yuuri, quit pacing and do something—anything to keep yourself occupied.” 

Yuuri acquiesced to Murata’s request by plopping down the cushioned daybed of his office, one he’d spent long hours in already.

Evenings now were becoming short and colder, Yuuri’s lunch lay half-eaten and forgotten on the bedside. Since Wolfram’s pregnancy it seemed Yuuri was destined for constant worry. If he heard one more servant remark on either congratulating him for Wolfram’s behalf, or questioning him on the prince’s condition and well-being, he might be tempted to scream. Yet, he was grateful for the company of a quiet, non-judgmental friend that remained a loyal companion on times such as these. 

Yuuri’s eyes lingered down Murata’s hands, envying the calmness of his friend, sitting there beside the window, embroidering a hem of soft white ruffles on a small baby dress. Color pink. A baby suit meant for Wolfram’s first born. And Yuuri had the feeling the baby’s gender gave little importance to the contributing factor of the design. 

“Perhaps a walk around the village market will calm you,” Murata suggested, as he pushed the needle trough the soft cloth and pulling the gold thread out with meticulous patience.

“Until Gwendal returns there are no guards to spare from their duties, and I don’t wish to be escorted like a fuckin’ child.”

Murata looked up from his needle work, arching an eyebrow at Yuuri’s sudden profane language. “You’re usually the calm pool, not the boiling river. You best find something to do before you pull us all on edge of madness. More than we already are.”

Yuuri sighed, turning his head to look upon the grey evening skies. Gwendal’s sudden retreat was not his cause of worry and anger. Whatever reason Gwendal left with no word to a living soul of his destination was his business. The man has always been that way. Wolfram was expecting his first child and even though Yuuri was not the father, worry over the risks of birthing and not knowing if his Wolfram was well taken care of and being so far away…it wore on Yuuri’s nerves.

Moments like this were a rarity, despite his agitation all of today, the Maou lay dormant, unperturbed with no sign of taking over. Weather the Maou’s strange silence meant something, it did little to ease Yuuri, ironically enough. Sighing, Yuuri turned his head to stare at Murata again, lost in the sewing. He knew Murata cared for Wolfram as much as he did, and now he felt bad for having left his friend behind to oversee the kingdom while everyone else had gone to visit him. 

“You could’ve come with us, you know,” Yuuri said, his voice echoing loudly in the grand empty calmness of the room. Murata looked up to look at him briefly before returning his attention to the needlework, a small smile grazing his lips as he gently shook his head. 

“The gift was not ready yet, and neither was I,” he replied chuckling. “Though I hope it will be ready soon.” He secured the needle on the corner of the fabric and held up the wee baby nightie, displaying it proudly. “What do you think? Does it match Bielfield’s?”

Yuuri smiled weakly. “Perfectly.”

Murata sighed, bringing the unfinished baby suit down to his lap. “Wolfram has always been strong willed, brave and has endured many obstacles.”

Yuuri’s smile faded, eyes clinging to Murata’s every word. “He’ll be all right, Shibuya.” 

Yuuri lurched up from the day bed, his eyes sweeping the room, searching and hoping to find anything for an outlet to his worry that was quickly turning to annoyance, making him grouchy. Had it only been two days since he last saw Wolfram? Yes, and he longed to see him again, yet what could he do? And it seemed even Murata’s reassurance didn’t appease him, either. 

Shit. 

Being cooped up with an unhappy Demon King for hours had taken its toll on the Great Sage. In desperate need of another form of diversion, Murata finally lifted himself off the windowsill cushioned in pillows. Laying the baby suit carefully inside a small velvet trimmed box, along with the needle and threaded tools, he closed it and then reached for the platter that held Yuuri’s unfinished food. 

“It’s getting late. I suspect supper will be ready soon,” Murata said calmly, already heading for the door, tray in hand. “With this weather it might be hot soup again--see you at dinner?”

It was shortly after Murata’s departure that Yuuri decided to clean himself up and was just coming out of the baths fresh and composed, that he noticed a small folded paper on the floor. It lay just below the spot where Murata had sat only hours ago; thinking it may have fallen out of his friend’s pocket, Yuuri reached over to pick it up. He was only just beginning to question himself about it, when a servant girl knocked at his door.

“Your Majesty? Sir Gwendal has returned.”

“Ah, thank you for letting me know.” 

“Will you be having dinner in your room again, sir?” 

“No, I’ll eat at the dining hall.”

Admitting it best to adjust to the changes he dreaded, Yuuri decided he begin by socializing with the family again, and as he made his way down the stairs, sounds of clattering objects, slamming doors and muffled voices reached an office upstairs. Just as quickly it had come the commotion ceased, leaving behind a confused, perturbed Yuuri.

“What the hell was that?” he asked to himself out loud, spinning around in place in search of the origin. Silence again, Yuuri continued his descend when he realized he still held the letter in hand. He cursed and was about to shout Murata’s name to adhere his whereabouts when the familiar writing on the paper gave him pause. Carefully, he unfolded the paper, soon with more urgency as he began to recognize the writing as Wolfram’s. Yet the letter was not addressed to him, but to Murata instead. Dinner forgotten and breath quickening, Yuuri began to read: 

Murata,  
I must ask for your discretion on the matter I am about to convey, please do not let Yuuri know of what I’m about to tell you:  
I can stand the strain of worry and strangeness of these events any longer and I fear I’ll go mad if this continues! I’ve no one to turn to except you. Please help Gwendal find the truth for me, I don’t wish to believe Alan has done bad deeds. Please let Gwendal know of the rumors surrounding my fiancée, I was told by a villager that he--

Yuuri didn’t finish reading Wolfram’s letter, for he was already sprinting to Gwendal’s office, letter in hand. The bustle of muffled voices grew louder, and Yuuri realized the commotion he had heard earlier were indeed coming from Gwendal’s office. Pace quickening, Yuuri flung the heavy doors open, not bothering to knock or announce himself as he usually did. And he froze instantly at the sight before him: a man tied to a chair, struggling and confused in Gwendal and Conrad’s arms in the middle of the room. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Yuuri yelled. 

“Heika, stay away. Get out of here,” Conrad curtly ordered, voice strained. Ignoring his Godfather, Yuuri’s questions persisted, now more aggressively. 

“What is happening? Who is that man? And why wasn’t I told of this letter?” he asked, flinging the paper roughly in the air. The stranger glanced at Yuuri briefly, said nothing, and returned to struggle against the bindings. Ignoring Yuuri’s presence. 

“Your relentless persecution convinced me to come here,” the man snarled quietly at Gwendal through gritted teeth. “Though, I didn’t expect such treatment--Let me go! I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You will tell me everything I need to know,” Gwendal said grimly. “Starting with who you really are.”

The man’s eyes widened, staring at Gwendal in disbelief. “After all this? I don’t see what interest my name has for any of you. And what makes you think I’d utter a word? You---"

Suddenly pausing, it was in that moment that Murata slowly appeared behind Yuuri, the commotion of the room seemed to have lured him due to the open door that no one had bothered to close in the commotion. ‘Twas obvious in Murata’s slow and silent approach of the situation he needed no explanation to what was going on. The stranger couldn’t keep his eyes off the Great Sage as Murata entered gracefully into the office stopping to stand only a few feet in front of the man Gwendal had brought in.

“Consider please, our situation tonight, sir,” Murata explained with utter indifference. “We were forced to muster any means to procure necessary resources, such as yourself, for any information these gentlemen will now ask of you.”

The man continued his silence scrutinization of the Great Sage, his mouth hanging open and eyes never wavering from Murata’s handsome countenance that held him as if in a spell. Just as the stranger’s gaze moved up his body, Murata turned his head to pin him with a cold grey stare so intense that made the man’s blood stir, rousing further his interest in the Great Sage. 

Why is he staring at me like a simpleton? Murata thought. He was accustomed to a certain response from people, and this was not it. Yet, Murata took advantage as well to study the older man bound to the chair; noted how tall he was, well above six feet, lean and broad-shouldered, clean shaven, square jaw. Murata’s gaze traveling down the man’s white open loose blouse, descended to well-muscled thighs encased in doeskin to the tops of his well-worn out Hessians. He wore a simple heavy coat, brown as the straight hair that cascaded along the front of his collar. 

The man finally spoke again. “Am I to just accept this treatment?” 

“A precaution, I suppose,” Murata replied as-a-matter-of-factly. “Surely you understand, you are in the presence of the Demon King.”

A smile curled the man’s lips as his eyes lavished lewdly over Murat’s body again, and Murata braved the stranger’s stare in return. “Oh, yes, I know.” 

Yuuri was annoyed.

“Oh, enough, enough!” Yuuri cried, breaking the spell. “Someone better start giving me answers! Starting with you!” He spun around, pointed at Murata who in turn faced him with alerted calmness. “You knew of this letter and refused to tell me? Why didn’t you—"

“You temper has gotten the best of you, as of late, Shibuya. I was going to tell you everything after confirming all the facts.”

“What facts?” Yuuri’s thoughts arose of the letter in his hand. “About that man? Is Wolfram in trouble? You told Gwendal about the letter—"

“He didn’t have to,” Gwendal interrupted. “I had my suspicions the moment we left Irrison land after visiting Wolfram.”

“I received the letter early morning the day before. By the time I reached to tell Gwendal of the letter, he had already left,” Murata continued, then briefly nodded in Conrad’s direction. “Conrad told me of Gwendal’s suspicions and that’s when we knew: Gwendal would come back, hopefully with news of his investigation.”

Conrad nodded silently in approval. “It’s true, Heika.”

“And that’s where you come in.” Gwendal gripped both sides of the chair that held the man captive, turning both man and chair to face him directly with ease of strength. “Turns out I didn’t have to go to Irrison land—having heard rumors you had fled and made home in one of the many towns of Shin Makoku. You’ve been making a living as a spiritual medicine man since.”

“What does this have to do with Wolfram?!” Yuuri asked, his rage having lessened, but not his impatience.

“Plenty. Now talk. Who are you?”

The man huffed in defiance. “I’ve yet to learn why it interests any of you.”

“We fear for the well-being of a dear friend,” Murata answered sincerely. “An innocent, who is with child in this very moment.”

Deep blue eyes met Murata’s at last and the connection that passed between them was of sorrowful nobility they both seemed to share deep inside both their souls. Yet, whatever it was, it worked to thaw the stranger’s stubbornness, for he sighed deeply, shoulders relaxing. The room suddenly turned quiet, the sound of the crackling fireplace the only voice in the somber aura of the moment, as the interrogation began. 

“I’ve been called many things,” the man began softly. “The Devil. Unholy Scum. I convinced many I could revive the dead of human corpses, hence the name I’m known for today: The Resurrectionist.” 

“Did you succeed?” Gwendal asked.

“Only with one. A young girl—many years ago—died of illness they said.”

“Who are “they”?”

“The villagers in the girl’s hometown.”

“How can her body move if she’s dead?” Conrad asked as Yuuri and Murata listened in the sidelines.

“Energy of sorts…persisting after death,” The man lifted his gaze to them. “Like a final twitch of life once a head’s been cut off.”

Yuuri’s sudden sense of injustice irked him to question, “How could you have done this to an innocent child?”

The accusation made the man’s temper snap. He turned his attention sharply to Yuuri’s direction. “I may be many things, but not a murderer!” he shouted. “I try to give back what was once lost to people and I only succeeded one time.” His voice quieted again. “Mayhap, her mind is long gone, but her body is alive and well. And she doesn’t age. Walks about obeying orders with no conscious—a perfect, mute and mindless puppet who does anyone’s will.” He scoffed, shaking his head, regretting the memory of it. “Especially the lord prince—he uses her to kill. That’s how he made his riches.” He finished lamely.

Yuuri stepped forth, more alert now. “Who? What lord prince? Did what?” 

The man shrugged his shoulders. “He paid me good coin for me to revive the dead girl years ago. And the girl’s mother was so happy—she is now loyal to him. Cares for him and his house.” 

“What is his name!” Yuuri shouted and as he did, he felt his breath knocked out of his lungs in dread of the answer he felt everyone in the room already knew, including himself. 

“Alan Alberic of Irrison.” The room stilled. Gwendal took in a sharp breath, Yuuri let out a shocked gasp, Murata’s eyes widened, and Conrad’s body grew cold. “A beast with the face of a man.” 

Gwendal was the first to speak again. “And what is the girl’s name?”

The man thought for a moment. “Her mother called her…Leah.”

Gwendal approached the man again. “I was told you used to live in the first village in Irrison land--how much do you know about his past?” 

“Hell, everything. Every dirty corner aspect of it--I wish I didn’t.”

“Tell me everything!” Yuuri demanded, his body stiff and cold.

“Can you at least untie me? I’m not a criminal.” Exchanging silent mutual agreement, Conrad began untying the binds, as the man adhered to more demands. “And I’m famished, too. Food is the least you can do for answers, isn’t it?”

The kitchen hall was as immense as the rest of the castle, the staff had departed for the night and had left the room clean for the next day. Discretion had them all sitting on the long kitchen prep table lighted by the glow of one candelabra between them. Along with bread and cheese, there were slices of leftover country ham, a few boiled potatoes and even apple tarts leftover from dinner. Gwendal, Conrad, Yuuri and Murata sat back in their chairs, watching and waiting anxiously in the silence for the man to finish eating. He had pulled up the long white loose sleeves to his elbows, as he gulped a full glass of water.

Noting their anxiety, the man finally spoke, “From what I’ve noted by your actions, you lot seem to be desperate for time, so I will start with the brief history, leaving nothing unsaid: 

“The land Alan Alberic resides on was at one time among the richest in that province. In the last century three successive heirs were able to adopt and maintain the few acres that is now Irrison land, along with the two-hundred-year-old castle. The last heir, Lady Anne inherited a small amount of money whom she left to her only surviving grandchild. ‘Twas enough for all his needs and wants to hold him up at least until he became of age to maintain and gain his own finance. 

“But a terrible change came over him soon after he turned marrying age. Instead of making friends or maintaining allegiance with the neighboring kingdoms Lady Anne--in life-- had made, he shut himself up and neglected the two villages that was by right his to look after. Soon, village rumor turned on him and he became the terror of his own people who would flee at his approach. No servant would stay with him, and for a long time, he didn’t have no one to care for the castle.”

Breaking the silence, Conrad asked, “If his reputation is as horrendous as you say, how has he kept himself a wealthy man?”

“That is another rumor that was said to cause the abandonment of one of the two villages…’twas said he lured wealthy partners, married them, and after he gained power over their monetary dowry, they would just disappear.”  
Yuuri perked up. “You said he would kill them—”

“—I said he USES Leah to kill.”

“And you know this for a fact?” Gwendal snapped. 

“Everything is different when you live in the village, it’s not like the high court in the castle of the nobles. Villagers know every rumor abounding everything, they see more, they know when to speak and when to keep silent. In my time there I’ve not seen Irrison’s partners personally, only heard of their sudden deaths. And in no time at all he would bring another “bride” just as his wealth began to decline and, trust me, none of the finance was given to improve either of the villages.”

Conrad chair creaked heavily as he leaned gradually over the table. “What assurance do we have that your word is true?”

“It’s all true, every word of it, because,” He hesitated a bit, choosing his words carefully. “I personally forged every document to every victim he ensnared, making him the sole beneficiary of their dowry.” 

Murata’s eyes widened and noticing this, the man quickly answered, “But I had no part in their deaths! I didn’t want no more part of it after his fourth marriage.” 

“Fourth?!” 

“I did one final forgery to the one from here--a young Mazoku prince, and I gather it won’t be long until he rids himself of that poor creature either.”

Just then, they all heard the sound of Yuuri standing up from his chair, so abruptly, that his sudden actions made Murata stand also in sudden worry. 

“Your Majesty, where are you going?” Conrad asked with equal anxiety, instinctively gripping Yuuri’s arm.

“To bring him back,” Yuuri answered, sharply tearing himself away from Conrad’s hold. 

“You’ll only make things worse. Let us send him a letter--”

“I’m done with letters! Some things are better said in person!” Yuuri was already out the kitchen.

I’ve learned that the hard way, he thought, bursting out the castle doors, and heading for the stables, carrying nothing with him except his willful determination tangled in a web of all emotion that seemed to have no outlet.  
Yuuri was gone in an instant, and Murata bit his lip, the cloying atmosphere making him feel like a caged animal. 

~*~

Wolfram was thankful Alan had left early that morning for his daily rounds of the village. His breakfast was suddenly interrupted when Leah announced a “King Yuuri” urged to see him down in the parlor. Heart racing, and quickly descending the stairs, Wolfram indeed found Yuuri standing over the fireplace, expression hard and full of worry, eyes sunken with lack of sleep. Looking about, expecting one of his brothers at Yuuri’s side and finding no one, left Wolfram even more in shock. Yuuri rode alone all night? Why? Wolfram gulped, recalling the letter he had written to the Great Sage a few days ago, yet he wasn’t about to compromise himself, so Wolfram didn’t utter a word. He would let Yuuri speak first, yes. 

Both finally sitting facing each other, Wolfram waited patiently for Yuuri to start the conversation, eagerly awaiting the reason for Yuuri’s sudden visit and hoping Yuuri’s stay wouldn’t last long. 

An awful cramp had Wolfram biting his lip in pain, but he quickly ignored it. He placed a hand discreetly over his stomach, rubbing the small swell gently. The cramps began just last night, yet he quickly brushed it off in hopes it would dissipate, but it resurfaced again this morning. Perhaps the mystery of the rumors surrounding his husband were the cause of it, and Wolfram had tried not to let it affect him, but now with Yuuri’s sudden visit, well…it seemed the day was destined to be his torment. 

“Has he harmed you in any way?” Yuuri suddenly questioned. “Has he ever tried to? Tell me the truth.”

“What are you going on about?”

“You know exactly what this is about,” Yuuri chided. He briefly summarized all that he learned last night, to the letter addressed to Murata, Gwendal’s interrogation with a man claiming to know Alan’s dark history, the rumors surrounding previous marriages, and the strangeness surrounding a girl named ‘Leah.’ The blood drained from Wolfram’s face at Yuuri’s every word. 

“Trust me, Wolf, if all this is true, I will fight him if he refuses to return you to all of us!”

“Good Lord, no! Don’t talk about dueling!” Wolfram shook his head, regretting ever writing that blasted letter. “He hasn’t done anything of the sort! I know him!” He sighed in desperation. “This is all my fault...”

“Your fault?”

“Entirely.” Wolfram gave an earnest nod as his cheeks turned red. “That peasant woman riled me up with her rumors about Alan and I let it get to me! I should’ve known better than to listen to village rumor!”

“I think you trust too easily, Wolf.”

He snorted, folding his arms across his chest, recalling their adventures in their youth, where at every turn Yuuri was always in some form of trouble with anyone he crossed paths with. “You’re telling ME I trust too easily?” 

Yuuri sauntered closer to where Wolfram sat, his voice now low and gentle. Wolfram leaned back a little, heart pounding at Yuuri’s nearness. Suddenly remembering Yuuri’s hands on his legs, the strength he used to lift Wolfram on the garden wall, the way Yuuri pounded in him with such fierceness, the thick girth of his rod-- 

“You know I’d do anything to keep you safe. I always have.” Yuuri said, ignoring Wolfram’s stubborn turn to look away from him. “Why didn’t you come to me if you felt you were in danger?”

Wolfram quickly turned to look into his troubled brown eyes. “I never said I was in danger—”

Yuuri leaned over to place his hand gently on Wolfram’s soft beautiful one, the touch of skin making Wolfram jump slightly.

“Come with me, Wolf,” he said urgently. “I’ll protect you.” 

Wolfram remained stubborn. His green eyes fixed squarely on Yuuri as he replied through gritted teeth, “I don’t need protection from my husband.”

Yuuri growled, his patience finally at its limit as he quickly stood in one lithe motion. “You have no concept of what this man is capable of! He has to be stopped, and I’m the one to stop him!” Yuuri yelled, his rage charging the air like lightning. “Don’t you understand?”

“It cannot be true!” Wolfram stood, hand on his soft swollen belly; in his blind fury, Yuuri forgot this important fact. 

“He’s murdered innocents! Four times widowed, with him being the only beneficiary—where do you think all his wealth comes from? Not the backs of his people! Not this forsaken land!”

Wolfram heaved softly. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. 

“It’s the truth! I have proof! Just come back home with me to Shin Makoku, please!”

Wolfram stared blankly at Yuuri’s outstretched hand, face pale, yet his stubbornness persisted. 

“I can’t…”

“Wolf, I’m beginning you, plea—Wolf!”

Yuuri caught the pregnant blonde just as he fainted heavily in his arms.


	11. Chapter Ten: A Tragic Day

Chapter 10: A Tragic Day

The doors to main bedroom chamber burst open, and there Alan stood, mouth open, staring at the spectacle before his eyes. 

“Merciful heavens, master Alan, get out of here,” Miggins commanded, placing her plump self squarely in front of him, not allowing Alan to continued further into the room. “How on earth did you know to come?”

Ignoring the woman, Alan look yonder over the bedroom, where two Leah’s where hovering gently over the blonde prince, dabbing his head with cold water, the other holding still as Wolfram gripped tight to her hands. Wolfram was on the bed, face red and full of sweat, groaning, grunting, and panting for breath, legs spread open on pink bloody sheets. Alan’s face paled at the sight.

“What’s happened?! What’s wrong with him!?” he demanded as Miggins pushed the man out into the hallway. 

“This is woman’s work! You cannot do anything, now stay out until I call you!” 

Taking the chance to enter, one of the Leah’s quietly strolled in, removing her winter coat, readying herself to help. Miggins turned to look at her confused. 

“And where did you go? I’ve been looking for you, girl!” 

A voice from the stairs called out, calmly. “I send her out to fetch him.” 

Alan’s eyes widened in recognition of the man standing now before him, Yuuri Shibuya. In his haste after he was told of Wolfram’s sudden health complications, he did not notice Yuuri’s coach on the inner entrance of the castle. Nor any of Shin Makoku servants. Was there even a coach? Did King Yuuri Shibuya come here alone? And why? 

The sound of the door closing and the latch locking broke Alan’s inner jumble of thoughts. The awkward silence suddenly overpowering the lack of worry, and rage took its place and his manners of hospitality with it.   
Alan turned his head in a slow, haunting motion to Yuuri’s direction. Snake-like amber eyes piercing Yuuri’s hard, cold brown ones, Yuuri’s chin lifting high, body stiff and ready…for anything that may happen. He was proud of the way he carried himself calmly, and he had Gwendal and Conrad to thank for. They trained him well for the past years, trained him in whatever would happen—siege, raid, even in meager conversations that would quickly turn to brawls—he felt these things were some he was ready to face, as he looked upon the monster that was Irrison. How could anyone not had seen it before?

“What are you doing here?” Alan spat, voice low and husky. 

Taken back, yet not surprised, by the inapt rudeness, Yuuri asked curtly, “Have you forgotten who I am?”

“I’m no fool, I know exactly who you are.” It only took a few long strides and Alan’s face was only inches form Yuuri as he said thickly, “This is my land and, here, you are no king of mine."

Yuuri steeled himself at the man’s words. 

“Leave us,” Alan hissed. “Now!”

“No.”

Gripping Yuuri’s collar, Alan tugged him closer, face burning in silent rage. “Were you the cause of this?”

“No,” Yuuri answered calmly, then quickly yanked himself from Alan’s grip. “That’s not why I came.”

“Then why did you?” Yuuri chose not to answer that question, irking Alan’s impatience as he remained silent. “Answer me, you—”

“He didn’t send me here, if that’s cause for your temper,” Yuuri answered crossly. “I came on my own. Now, will I get to see him soon?”

“No, you will not!” Alan’s voice was stiff with anger. “He doesn’t belong to you anymore, he is MINE!”

Yuuri tightened his hands in fists at the man’s words.

“Now, you will gather yourself and return to Shin Makoku. Tonight! Right now!”

Yuuri had sense enough not to argue, despite his morbid desire to stay and see for himself how Wolfram would fair. Sadness filled his heart as it was obvious Wolfram was having a miscarriage. And by how much blood he’d seen on his gown it was most likely the child would not…

Murata’s voice rang in his thoughts, Wolfram has always been strong willed, brave and has endured many obstacles…

Yuuri inhaled inwardly, gulping down anger and raging words he wished to shout and berate the man in front of him. Tell all that he knew about him and use that reason to break their marriage contract and take Wolfram back with him right then in that moment. Yet, he knew he had to keep quiet, for Wolfram. Do it for Wolfram, he convinced himself, repeating those four words endlessly in his head. At last, looking squarely at Irrison, Yuuri nodded in acceptance.

“I am sorry for any insult or unease I may have given, to both of you,” he added, then turned to leave, fearing if he spoke any more than that, he would say or do something appalling. And either action would cause threat to Wolfram’s safety if he acted on it.

Once outside, Yuuri maneuvered his horse through the throng of people that had gathered just at the edge of the village, close to the castle. Having never seen him before and the way he had trespassed without so much as an announcement had the villagers looking out curiously and cautiously at him. No one questioned him though, and Yuuri was grateful for their silence. The Maou, on the other hand, raged within him, “Why did you hesitate, you should’ve killed him!” 

Now is not the time, Yuuri replied inwardly, glancing at Irrison’s castle thinking of his beloved, in pain and alone. He snapped the reins and the animal turned to the direction of home, his strong legs gliding quickly over the hills and onto the road as Yuuri’s raging tears were carried by the cold winds. 

By the time he reached Shin Makoku the next day, his tears had dissipated, yet he felt his eyes red and puffy as he dismounted his horse. His body heavy and his legs weak, and skin cold. The sound of oncoming footsteps descending the steps reached his ears. He looked to see Conrad, Gwendal and Murata rush over, stopping at his side. Sensing distress, Murata asked, “What is it? What happened?”

Yuuri looked up at all of them solemnly and said, “I’m afraid there has been some very bad news.”

~*~

Grey cold evening approached, Wolfram closed himself in the seclusion of the tiled and finely furnished bathing room, sitting inside the warm, water-filled bathtub. He was unmoved as one of the Leah’s came in to announce she’d start preparation for his bed for the night: warming the room with a fresh fire, turning the bed sheets and setting out of Wolfram’s night lotions, scented perfumes and hair combs. Another Leah waited silently as Wolfram slowly finished bathing. His face pale, somber with one that held no emotion, only frozen melancholy. Leah held up a heated towel when Wolfram finally emerged, patting his arms, and back dry. It seemed terribly decadent, allowing someone to do what he was perfectly able to do for himself, but in this moment he didn’t care. 

He refused to use any lotions and perfumes and only allowed the maids to dress him in his usual nightie and brush his golden locks. Staring blankly at his reflection in the mirror, Wolfram sniffled quietly. Just then his bedroom door creaked open and Miggs walked in followed by one more Leah, in her hands a teak bed tray that held a small hot bowl of soup and a teacup and saucer. 

“I brought you an herbal tea—of my own makin’,” Miggs said, her voice sympathetic and gentle. “It will clear away the pain.”  
Wolfram shook his head.

“Come, now, dear. You do not want the fever on you—have the tea, if only a bit.”

Wolfram’s eyes turned pink again and he moved as he felt fresh tears fall gradually down his cheeks. Reaching for the bottom drawer of his vanity, Wolfram took out the small, metallic MP3 player and headphones. He walked toward his bed not saying a word, laid on it, put the earpieces on and pressed his hands on top of his ears as loud, random music filled him. 

Drowning in the melodies and lyrics, he began to stroke his belly tenderly—his belly that once held a life—a life he would never get to know because there was only emptiness there now. It felt almost like a dream—a bad dream, one he wished to wake up from, but couldn’t. Then just as sudden, he began to cry, his body curling itself as all the overwhelming sadness filled his heart. 

Miggins, who had been quietly watching him break piece by piece also couldn’t hold back as her tears matched Wolfram’s loss but said nothing. 

My baby’s gone, Wolfram cried inwardly and just the thought made him much more hysterical, and he knew well this mental sickness was going to be his plague for a while. In his youth he had never known the true meaning, the fear, so many had about miscarriage, and now he did. And how he wished he didn’t. The emotional and physical pain matched, draining him of everything except his grief. 

Why couldn’t he had been more careful? Been more attentive to the signs his body was giving? Those pains he brushed away were there, trying to tell him--warn him--that something was not right and he did not listen.

“I’m sorry,” Wolfram cried softly into the pillows. The guilty feeling that he had somehow caused this was overwhelming. His little one was an innocent…and to have this happen…

Oh, he felt so empty and more alone now than he ever thought he was. 

“I’m so sorry…!” Wolfram’s cries rang about the bedroom as he became the cold winter storm raging outside his window. 

And it was in this form of torment that opened Wolfram’s days after since his baby was lost to him. The hours of sleep, which at first came so easily and full of peace, were now a challenge and a long, dreary anxiety of grief overcame him during the nights. During the day he could not enjoy eating like he used to; did not want any form of company as he used to. Did not even wish to speak—his voice was mute. All these were sinister effects of the pain and loss he experienced. He was a disembodied ghost of himself that was different form the fiery Mazoku he had been in the beginning. 

Every now and then he’d awaken from his empty shell to hear whispered words from Alan, and of Miggins, speaking consolingly to him. Those times seemed a blur of both reality and delusion—one he did not care now to differentiate. Phantom visions he welcomed as each day of his mourning and mental torment came and went, until it gradually melted away. It was in one of these times that Alan relinquished his stoic and taciturn mood out of respect for Wolfram’s mourning, and now he freed his anger and his need to question Wolfram of Yuuri Shibuya’s visit that he had not let himself forget. 

~*~

The torches had burned low, shimmering softly at Wolfram’s back, as Alan kept his unperturbed vigil of the blonde prince and he inwardly recalled all the events that had transpired. Alan had stayed in the adjacent room from the main bedroom each night since Wolfram’s miscarriage, wanting to be left alone in his thoughts and troubled heart. He gathered Wolfram had wished for it as well. If he joined Wolfram, it meant he would have to face what he already feared to be his punishment for all the past sins he’s committed. 

Tell him the truth, his better conscious whispered in his mind. Nay! He had committed terrible deeds in the past and all in the name of his own warped interests. He had lost a child to one of his previous marriages long ago, but that one was very much on purpose. He had personally poisoned the lady’s teas and soups once he learned the woman was with child. A child that was only going to be in the way of his plans back then, so he took care of both mother and child. The woman’s fortune was worth it. 

Yet, this one was different. Witnessing Wolfram’s pain and suffering, someone who had, for the first time in his life, become very precious to him, was a vicious penalty. If he compromised himself now, would Wolfram still want him? Would Wolfram forgive him? If not, would Wolfram go back to Yuuri Shibuya? 

A sudden chill ran up his spine at the thought. He had dug the grave of their unborn child himself, his body cold, his own heart heavy as he watched Wolfram kneel, placing flowers over the fresh turned earth, along with the babe’s knitted botties that looked tiny on top of the stone marker. Wolfram would do this every day, his weak, healing body never deterring him from visiting the grave and always the whispered “I’m sorry” afterward- tears never faltering. 

On one such evening, Alan walked toward Wolfram, wishing to at last ask the blonde of Yuuri Shibuya’s visit that day. He had patiently waited each agonizing day since so as not to perturb Wolfram’s mourning. (Not much his own for he knew he could have Wolfram conceive again, only this time he would be more watchful.) And though Alan knew consoling his lover was a priority, his anger and jealousy from that day hadn’t dissipated, and as his weight settled to sit next to Wolfram’s kneeling form on the flowered grave, he spoke in a tone so low, yet firm.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was coming here to see you?”

Wolfram turned his head to look at him, eyes red, swollen and his face pale. “I didn’t know—"

“Was he the cause of this?”

“No!” Wolfram voice raised hoarsely, gradually pushing himself to turn to look at Alan. “The pains started long before Yuuri arrived—it was my own negligence the reason the baby—” 

Wolfram hid his face in his hands as another sob filled him, his emotions still fresh and sensitive. His wails panged at Alan’s heart knowing he had caused Wolfram more grief. He quickly took the blonde into his arms and held Wolfram close. Gently, as Wolfram clung to him with every weight of his sadness.

“How can I tell my family?” the young blonde began. “I was so happy, at first, but now—"

“Shh,” Alan whispered as Wolfram’s wails echoed in his head as his memories returned to the present. He had tried to convince himself it would be best to let Wolfram go. And yet at the same time, he found he did not want to. 

Why did this happen? Just when he was ready to give his vows and had at last found one he could see himself live his life with--

“Alan?”

Alan stood quickly from his warm armchair, stretching muscles weary from lack of sleep, shaking free of his ominous thoughts once he heard Wolfram’s voice call out to him. Hunger bit at his insides, and thirst shriveled his tongue, yet he ignored these needs and instead turned to the open door of the room he resided in, looking beyond the darken hallway across to Wolfram’s own darken room. The blonde’s door having been left open so Alan could keep his eye on him from afar as he had each night. The Mazoku prince had sat up from his bed, eyes still swollen as he sniffled. And as Alan approached him quietly, Wolfram gave a deep shuddering sigh. 

Meeting golden eyes, Wolfram said simply, “I wish to go home.”

Alan’s breath stopped for a moment. His eyes grew wide as he looked down at Wolfram with equal surprise. Home? At Shin Makoku…where Yuuri Shibuya resided? 

“I cannot stand being here,” Wolfram fisted Alan’s shirt in his hands. “I have to go away.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please understand, the heartache and sadness may never leave me. I need my family to help me through this—I cannot seem to find the joy in anything like I used to.”

At that moment, Alan thought of all the moments he had shared with Wolfram in their brief union. Wolfram had quickly painted color in his cold, grey and lonely world. He could easily be strict, firm, and say no to Wolfram, knowing the blonde would obey him, as his betrothed and future husband. Yet, how could he deny his most precious a personal request he knew Wolfram needed in his time of need? Wolfram was the one going through the loss both physically and emotionally, after all. Time is a great healer, so they say, but time was no ally when the cruelest of situations has fallen upon you. And if he did refuse Wolfram, would Wolfram hate him for it? Perhaps it would make the blonde prince distance himself from him? He did not want that…

Alan sighed, not believing the words that came out of his own mouth as he said, “Then, you have my permission to go.”

Wolfram held him tight, his arms gripping his waist, his pale cheek rubbing lovingly at Alan’s clothed torso whispering his “thank you” over and over. Then just as quickly, looking up at him to ask, “You’ll come with me, won’t you?”

Yuuri Shibuya flashed in Alan’s mind again.

“Not this time, but…” He quickly reached for Wolfram’s hand, took grip on it, not letting go, forcing Wolfram to look into his eyes. “Promise me you won’t stay long.” He paused, curling a blonde lock in his fingers as he added a more sweet endearment he knew would ensure Wolfram’s return, “Because, now, having known you, I don’t know how long I could stand being without you.”

Wolfram’s sniffled at Alan’s words, then gradually Alan smiled as he saw Wolfram’s cheek turn a pink hue. 

“I promise,” Wolfram vowed as he leaned over to place a kiss to Alan’s lips. 

How could he ever thought Alan to have a dark secret? The rumors about him MUST be a lie--he was always so gentle and sweet with him. He mentally promised himself then to return to his betrothed, no matter what. 

~*~

The entrance hall and the courtyard outside were crowded with Leah’s loading bags and trunks onto the carriage. It was happening. Wolfram would be home again. He sighed quietly in relief. 

Wolfram adjusted the small earpiece deeper into the inner shell of his ear as he moved away from the window. Music flooded his hearing as he once again took it as consolation for his jumble mess of emotions he felt. He was certain Yuuri would’ve already told the family about the miscarriage. Yet, his mind lingered on what he would he do or say once he returned to Shin Makoku. It was not like before… 

This was the reason why he had chosen not to announce his arrival. He would feel better if he arrived suddenly, no audience awaiting him, no feast to feel obliged to attend…just wrap himself in the warmth of his mother’s embrace and pour out his woes to her…

Dizziness returned, only slightly, leaving him lightheaded. Days spent bedridden had left him fatigued and weak. And ‘twas a fact that, during a demon’s pregnancy, Mazoku powers are temporarily stripped from the host to conserve the supple energy for the growing babe within. A fact that was useless now that he--Wolfram shook away the somber thoughts and focused on his last bag of personal supplies for the road. 

~*~

Alan blinked once, then twice. He had come to the main bedroom to make sure Wolfram had not forgotten anything and was just about to inquire over the book in Wolfram’s dresser. Yet as he picked it up, a few scattered letters fell from it, almost as if they were deliberately hidden there…but to what purpose? 

Heart pounding, Alan slowly opened one letter, then another, eyes roaming the words on the pages. The more he read, the more clearer everything became. He did not move. His breath only accelerated as his face hardened. 

I cannot fathom words to describe the feeling of having your entire heart be hundreds of miles away from you…I’m breaking into pieces and it’s consuming my existence.   
~Y

I know these letters has kept you from forgetting me, yet they are all that has kept me sane, and will remain this way until the day I feel complete again…  
~Y

Alan crinkled the letters in his hands, eyes watering as he came to the sudden revelation: Wolfram and his ex-fiancée had continued their contact with each other all this time. Wolfram has not forgotten his King. Was it even possible that during the Bonfire festivities, something occurred between them, and that is why Wolfram was out of sorts the next morning? But how, he was always at Wolfram’s side…

Alan gripped his hair in between his fingers as he recalled Yuuri Shibuya’s sudden visit. He had truly believed the Demon King’s downcast self to seeing Wolfram pregnant was cause for Alan’s triumph. Yet, now that he thought about it, has the babe ever even been his? Was that the reason Wolfram quickly bedded him the night of their union? 

Oh, god--

Pulling his hair, Alan tried to hold on to shreds of truth, secrets he could not reveal, yet haunted his waking hour. He thought he had found some peace at last, a happiness to shed light into the cold world he created. Yet it seemed once again he had to fight to claim what was rightfully his. And Wolfram WAS his, and always will be. He had to make sure of that.

Shuddering, Alan hastily composed himself as a decision was met. He paced over to a heavy tapestry on the wall, angled it aside to reveal a gaping hole on the brick wall where a small dagger and sheath lay. As he gripped the cold handle of it, images of every victim whose life he’d taken appeared in his head, their screams engraved in his ears. Although the memories were supposed to repulse him, he could not suppress how proud and triumphant he had been then. 

Each one was of Mazoku origin, and this dagger engraved with magic stones had the means to strip them of their natural Mazoku powers once dug into skin, leaving them just like everyone else: helplessly human.

Eyes glowing amber in the darken hallway Alan slowly opened the bedroom door to Wolfram’s room. He was quiet about it, having had years of practice being stealthy, yet he did not have to be for Wolfram was unaware of his presence; carelessly listening to music in his metal device and packing the last bag for his journey. As he crept behind him, Wolfram immediately sensed him, turning and gifting him with a soft smile.

“Alan,” he greeted him. “Thank you again for letting me do this.” He turned around again and continued packing. “I can’t wait to go back home and see my mother, my brother Gwendal, and—”

“King Yuuri.”

Wolfram turned, confused. “Wha…?” he said incredulously, taking his headphones off. 

“He is the real reason why you’re so insistent on leaving isn’t it? Is that what you want—to see him!” Alan cried, throwing the letters to the floor. 

Recognizing them immediately, Wolfram stomach knotted, and he gasped as understanding of the situation dawned on him. “No! that’s not true!” One step, then another, slowly until Wolfram had reached Alan, bracing his weight on his chest with thin pale hands. “I only wish to see my home again, my family and friends. You said I could.”

“Did you see him each time you loved me?”

Wolfram’s thoughts burst forth briefly, aching for Yuuri as Alan touched him, thinking of Yuuri as Alan took him, screaming Yuuri’s name repeatedly in his head as Wolfram bounced himself on Alan’s manhood, loving Yuuri still if only this way…

“Of course not,” Wolfram gasped, knowing well it was a lie, feeling his cheeks grow hot.

He caught Wolfram’s upper arm and pulled him toward him, saying firmly, “Am I supposed to take your word for it?”

It was the first time Alan had spoken to him so roughly, touched him so aggressively, yet Wolfram knew well jealousy always came with fits of anger. Alan had every reason to doubt him, for all of it was true. Wolfram pined for Yuuri every beat of the waking hour, and it refused to go away, even after all that had transpired with Alan. Wolfram had to admit he had come to feel too much for this lonely man, and so he told himself his feelings for Alan were also real, if only a part of it.

“Do I still have your love, Wolfram?”

Wolfram looked firmly into Alan’s eyes and said, “Always.” 

Alan gripped the hilt of the small blade, the cool metal warmed by his hand, and the sharp edge of it beaded in strange stones he knew well how it would affect a Mazoku’s power once the blade touched flesh. At that moment, he imagined Yuuri Shibuya, and his possessiveness took over. Never again would Wolfram touch Yuuri Shibuya, kiss him or lay with him. 

“I’ll make sure of that,” Alan said, almost to himself, as he raised the blade just behind Wolfram, who was oblivious to the fate that was to await him. 

Wolfram looked up slightly from Alan’s embrace; a questioning look on his beautiful features. Those twin jades stared back at him with such trust, and before he could turn back, Alan swung the blade down, stabbing Wolfram just behind his shoulder blades. Wolfram’s cry came out weak, for he was already vulnerable due to his recent miscarriage, and his strength had not yet returned. So, as the cold shock of this heinous act he stumbled forward holding his weight in his husband’s arms. 

“I thought…you loved me!” Wolfram gasped, the pain swelling and burning his back. He felt cold, as though all the warmth within had frozen in seconds, leaving only pain.

A single tear fell down Alan’s cheek, as he looked down at Wolfram. His features hard and cold, though only his eyes betrayed the emotions he felt as he said in a low voice, “I do, my love, very much. Yet I fear once you leave my side, you’ll go back to your Yuuri, and leave me forever. And I can’t let that happen. You belong to me!” 

Wolfram body became heavy and limp as Alan gradually began to kneel just as Wolfram legs bent to the floor.

“This was the only way I could keep you as my own.”

Wolfram’s eyes finally closed, and a wrenching sob escaped Alan as he held Wolfram close to him. His lips hovering over Wolfram’s ear, whispering to him even though he knew Wolfram could not hear him.

“All I ever searched for…all I ever wanted was you, my dear.”

Author’s Note: My mother had a miscarriage when I was eleven years old. Her sadness and grief pained all, including her own sisters and brothers. She felt that somehow it was her fault, though everyone tried to convince her otherwise. A sad story, that has been with me all these years…


	12. Chapter Eleven: Trapped

Chapter Eleven: Trapped

He was cold. That was the first thing Wolfram became aware of. Or perhaps it was only his back that was on fire and his body cold. Either way, it hurt. It hurt a lot. He sat up rather quickly; a grave mistake. With a soft yet harsh cry, Wolfram reached behind to touch the place between his shoulder blades. The pain there was fire—fire that burned deep to the bones, slow and scorching--one that prickled like glass with every minimal movement. He couldn’t recall who tucked him neatly in bed, but he had an idea of who it could’ve been. 

As cold sweat broke out on his brow and heart pounding, Wolfram closed his eyes as he thought of Alan, how he had hurt him with a blade of some sort; leaving Wolfram weaker than he had been before, but why? 

Calming his breath, Wolfram’s eyes wet with tears wondered about the room to see the darkness of night along with the silent tufts of falling snow tapping on the glass windowpanes. Other than those, he was alone. How long has he lain here?

Wolfram slowly lifted himself off the bed and the throbbing pain on his back ignited the instant his feet took hold of his weight. Wolfram let out a small cry as his knees buckled, his fingers grasping the sheets as he fell. Clenching his lips tight he lifted himself again and slowly walked toward the bedroom door, back arched. Fear clotted his chest for he could not for the life of him feel his Mazoku powers, at all. When he was weak after his miscarriage he could, it was dormant, but he could still feel his powers there and now, there was nothing. Just a void. For the first time in his life, Wolfram felt so human—there was no other way to phrase it. 

Shinou, please, give me strength, he thought. Please.

Steeling himself for the worst, Wolfram grasped the cold metal latch and lifted it to open; he drew in a sharp breath as the latch stayed in place, locked, fingers barely with enough energy to wring it in motion to force it open—he was that weak, that much vulnerable and very much trapped. Sobbing quietly in desperation, Wolfram pressed his forehead down upon the cold wooden door. Only one name came to his mind then, only one face lighted his memory…

Yuuri!

A clicking sound, and the latch lifted suddenly, a soft gasp escaping Wolfram’s lips as the door swung open and a Leah stood there. Her lavender eyes glassy, lips tight, skin pale as the snow. Without a word she stepped back and bowed her head slightly implying he may head out. Cautiously, Wolfram stepped out, all the while watching her as he padded slowly onto the hallway leading to the stairs. He supported his weight on the walls for he did not want to ignite the awful pain he felt again. Turning to a mirror on the wall, he noticed pale sunken skin, eyes swollen red around the edges and a tumbled mess of blonde locks. Looking down he also noticed his nightie was a ragged state of wrinkles and tussled frills. 

If it had been on a different situation all this would’ve mattered, but as it were, now, trying to fix his state of attire seemed trivial. All Wolfram cared for was reaching an exit—all this time he had been here willingly, had not wanted to leave because he thought he was so happy.

And it was here, on the mirror’s reflection he noticed the Leah, who had been quietly following him, stop just at the foot of the stairs, watching him. She continued her vigil, almost hauntingly so, watching as Wolfram descended the stairs until he reached the hallway that led into the kitchen. He turned to see another Leah standing by the castle’s front doors, also staring quietly at him. It felt as though they were deliberately meant to be there—standing guard. Have they always done this? Since his arrival here, Wolfram failed to take notice. 

Wolfram quickened his slow waddling pace toward the kitchen’s back door, clenching his teeth, ignoring the ache in his back for he was finally clinging on some hope. Already planning on seeking help from anyone on his way to Shin Makoku in his head as his hand outstretched, at last seeing freedom…! 

“A bit late for a stroll, isn’t it, my dear?”

Inwardly gasping, Wolfram turned to find Alan seated at the end of the old, scarred kitchen table, a bowl of cold stew in front of him and a slab of stale bread, spread with pale creamy butter in his hand. A second bowl rested on the table in the place at his right side, laying neatly atop a large wooden food tray. A slice of bread beside it and a glass of milk.

In his desperation he failed to notice Alan in the kitchen due to the darkness of the room and the small lack of moonlight through the kitchen windows. Alan’s piercing eyes aimed his direction, his golden eyes glowing a bright yellow as he quietly regarded Wolfram standing there, not voicing an answer to Alan’s question.  
Wolfram flinched as Alan stood in a slow, quiet grace, and walked toward him, his gaze coldly fixated on Wolfram’s trembling body as Wolfram backed away. He had not forgotten what Alan had done to him. Had not dared to believe that it truly happened, yet it did. Wolfram looked to Alan’s hands, expecting to see the weapon Alan used on him, but didn’t see one. It brought relief, yes, but his panic and fear remained for he did not know what Alan would do next now that he caught Wolfram trying to escape. In his weakened physical condition and his power gone, there wasn’t much Wolfram could do to properly defend himself.

“I was bringing you dinner,” Alan said, his hand cupping Wolfram’s left cheek as Wolfram closed his eyes, breath coming out in short gasps, cold squirming his way up his toes to his head. “I started without you because…I needed some time to think.”

Wolfram’s sudden cry echoed in the empty kitchen as Alan’s hand slapped hard on his cheek, reddening the pale skin there. He hadn’t cried out in pain, merely the shock of it, the sting of it and the unexpected slap had caused him to bite the inside of his lip. Wolfram swirled his tongue around the metal flavor of his blood and, just as soon as it all happened, Alan’s arms were there, embracing him. 

“You’re not going anywhere without my knowing,” Alan whispered, his long fingers curling on Wolfram’s blonde locks, soothing at first, then puling it down roughly, forcing Wolfram’s chin up and another cry from the blonde Mazoku. “Are you?!”

“No…” Wolfram sobbed, pitifully. It wasn’t an answer to Alan’s demand, more of denial of his present situation and self-anger. The tears were from pain and frustration. Pain because the force bended his aching back and frustrated because he felt useless without his Mazoku powers and was physically unable to even handle himself in manual combat. His husband had become a monster, and this castle his prison.

Alan’s mouth pressed crudely on Wolfram’s, a mix of tears, spit and clumsy clash of lips. Alan pulled away--a sinful sloppy sound as they parted. He stared down at Wolfram’s tear stained face, then slowly framed his waist, gripping the nightie and lifting Wolfram off his feet, carrying the blonde back to the room. 

Wolfram felt Alan, for the first time, like a complete stranger.

~*~

It was one of those rare occasions when Martha, the morning cook, had taken to fever from the cold weather and Miggins was asked as a favor to take her place that morning. The young blonde lad, who was usually up and about for breakfast was nowhere in sight when Miggins arrived at the castle, surely something was amiss.  
Miggins peeked around the corner and saw Wolfram in the library, chair facing the fireplace, lost and quiet eyes staring intently at the flames. She must do what master Irrison asked of her before he left—to try to lessen Wolfram’s stubbornness with his food. She ignored the fact that lord Irrison was also out of sorts that morning, refusing breakfast and leaving somewhere in his stallion without so much as a fare-thee-well. Clearing her throat, Miggins entered the quiet library, forcing a cautious, gentle, mild and cheery tone.

“There you are, young sir,” her voice booming in the grand vastness of the room as she wrapped Wolfram in a suffocating hug. Wolfram did not move to return the embrace, only continued to stare into the crackling fire as one of the Leah’s brought the breakfast trolley. Miggins quickly dismissed her and opened the lids to stir the hot oatmeal. She prepped it with sweet honey and poured a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and set a small bowl of mixed fruit. 

“I’ll not stand by and allow this nonsense. You must eat, and I’ll not leave until you do. Come, I’ll eat with you—like we used to, remember?”

“I will not eat or sleep,” came Wolfram’s robotic answer. His face pale and the glow green of eyes pale as well. “And you know you’re wrong, don’t you?”

“Wrong about what?” Miggins asked, as she sat next to Wolfram, starting to prep her own bowl of oatmeal—in her willingness to make it look appealing to Wolfram, she found she was hungry, as well. 

“About your master, lord Irrison.” Miggins head jerked up, her spoon halfway to her mouth. “Yuuri was right. His wealth was built upon strange circumstances, perhaps upon the blood of many wealthy innocents whom he seduced. Like me.” 

Miggins dropped the spoon back in the bowl and after a moment of hesitation, she said, “Leah is my daughter.” 

Wolfram’s head spun to look at Miggins in surprise, eyes wide. A sad smile curled the corner of her mouth, eyes turning a glaze before a single tear ran down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away as she continued. 

“Was. I lost her eighteen years ago. Master Alan was alone, and no one would come to help him, but he found someone who claimed he could breathe life back into Leah’s body. Though her soul did not return, she was well done for her to follow orders and do her duties. And so, with my last remains of my magic, I conjured 13 of Leah to help me put this castle back in order.” She sniffled. “I didn’t know master Alan used her to kill his partners throughout the years! You’re the first one I know he’s been with the longest, but I promise I didn’t know anything else!” 

She began to sob, pulling a soft handkerchief from her apron and wiping her tears as Wolfram’s thoughts turned like wheels in understating of everything he had just heard. Unbeknownst to both, standing in the corner of the hallway, Alan held his breath. He had just come into the castle to check up on Wolfram when Miggins’ voice echoed in the hallway. The conversation halting his steps, forcing him to linger quietly in the shadows as Miggins told Wolfram all she knew. And it seemed she also knew…too much.

“How long have you known?”

“Your ex-fiancée gave me a letter explaining everything to me the day he came to visit you alone. I didn’t want to believe it, but the more I read, the more all the strangeness of his other wives became clear. Everything fell into place and—”

Wolfram could not believe what he was hearing, yet before she could say anything else, Alan called out Miggins’ name, making both Wolfram and Miggins jump in shock as he prowled toward them. 

“Come with me,” was all he said, as Wolfram and Miggins exchanged worried glances. Miggins got up from the chair and followed Alan to the kitchens. “I’ve game I caught this morn that I’d like for tonight’s meal.”

“Yes, sir,” Wolfram heard Miggins’ meek answer as they both disappeared from his sight. 

Wolfram glanced at the Leah who had been standing quietly a few feet from him, staring at him with the same stoic and blank expression. Wolfram turned his attention to question whether Alan had overheard them just now. If he did, he certainly didn’t show it and this new thought scared Wolfram—fearful for Miggins. If Alan were to do something to her he was in no position to help—

Damn it!

Wolfram covered his face with his hands and sighed in desperation, his powers gone, his physical strength weakening everyday…

Tears fell quietly down his cheeks, for he felt deep in his heart that this was going to be the last time he would see Miggins. 

~*~

She was there, uncomfortable, for the first time since serving under him, under the scrutiny of her master as she and the Leah’s cooked. He had startled her earlier more so than the lad, for she already suspected master Alan had overheard their conversation. Yet, to her surprise, instead of the expected anger, he had ordered her to start preparing the evening’s meal. Once she was finished and the Leah’s dismissed, he ordered her to sit, and thus she waited quietly, anxiously as her master sat there; head bent, seeming lost in memory. Then after a moment of silence he began telling her of his story and of his dark secret. 

“Moving cargo at the docks was the first job I could find, after my father passed. I was sure I’d become a boatman or fisherman, but alas, the coin was not enough for a lad of fifteen. When I wasn’t loading boats I learned to hold my own in a fist fight due to the many brawls over who was going to get the work of the day.” He paused and then added, “I learned in no time to bully my way into rich ladies’ hearts. Particularly the most vulnerable—a widow, an heiress—anyone who sought comfort in my body.”

Miggins listened carefully and silently, trying to understand the gradual process by which this young man became the monster standing before her. The monster everyone in town had rumored him to be. And somewhere in her heart, Miggins couldn’t help but begin to believe it.

“I’ve taken so much kindness from you, Miggins,” Alan said, looking up at her. “Including using your daughter to do my dirty work all these years.” 

Miggins’ tears ran down her cheeks at this sudden revelation. How could he? After she had trusted him so. Master Alan has been so kind to her all these years, and yet not once she had suspected or witnessed any of these terrible deeds. She had every right to be angry at him, and hate him, yet this was not in her nature. Perhaps in her youth, when she still had her Mazoku powers. Yet now, at this age, the beatings life had scarred her with had left her with a more humble, soft heart and soul. And as if knowing what ran in her mind, Alan himself admitted to what he was. 

“I’m a beast, Miggins,” he told her. “I’ve been fearful of what I’ve become and what I’m about to do.”

Miggins was not aware of Alan’s approach, but suddenly he was right in front of her. She gasped, suddenly acutely aware of the solidity and size of him. Frightened of what he’d do, Miggins stood from her spot and began to tremble. 

Alan smiled faintly. “You’re the last person in this world I’d want to cause any harm, Miggins. And, so, I am warning you now.” Alan leaned in, close to her face, eyes glowing a shade of gold. “Remove yourself from my estate and find yourself a new situation.”

Miggins mustered a shaken question. “And what of my present duties here?” 

“You heard me. Now go, before I change my mind.”

And what of the lad? she had wanted to ask yet felt it better not to voice it. For her own safety as well as the lad’s. For she was already planning on a way to call out for help. And before the man could have a change of heart, Miggins took her escape and left the castle.  
~*~  
The table was set with large roasted potatoes, soft loaves of bread with creamy butter, cherry tomatoes, a robust roasted pig browned to perfection and hot vegetable soup and Wolfram’s favorite wine--a delectable course meal, as it always was. Yet, what used to be a pleasant dinner before, now became an uncomfortable, cold obligation. Although he knew his weak body needed substance, now more than ever, Wolfram did not have an appetite. He was lost in his thoughts, brooding with a mix of self-directed anger, fear and desperation. Reflecting upon all the events that had transpired Wolfram realized he had been blind to how Alan had taken control of their relationship over the past months. 

How could he have ever succumbed to this man? He had done it so easily, too, perhaps the reason being that Wolfram was in such desperate need for love?  
The man clearly was no stranger to how to keep someone invalid, helpless. Emotionally and now physically, Wolfram was in Alan’s hands now and it scared the hell out of him. 

Wolfram’s eyes blazed in quiet fury as he watched Alan silently enjoy the meal before him. At last noticing the Mazoku prince, Alan placed down his wine goblet on the table and said, “What is the matter? You haven’t touched your dinner.”

The nerve of him to ask! 

“Where is Miggins?” 

“She’s around,” Alan answered lamely, returning to look at his meal, though now less enthusiastic than before, knowing well where this conversation will surely lead to. 

“I don’t believe you,” Wolfram retorted. “You’ve become like a stranger to me. You’re a--” 

Alan looked at Wolfram then, his shoulders tense as he said sharply, “Don’t judge me, Wolfram—you’ve no idea what I’ve had to do.”

“Then tell me then! Do it, now!” 

Wolfram knew this was the moment of no return, the cruel truth was going to be set forth to light. And even though Wolfram dreaded the answers, he was already mentally preparing himself for it. They both were.

For a long moment, Alan was silent. Grasping his hand onto the tablecloth, staring fiercely at his side as if thinking carefully of how much he should reveal. Yet, his bravado seemed to leave him suddenly as Alan slouched on his chair and shook his head with a resigned sigh. 

“In my youth, I blindly squandered the family fortune along with my inheritance,” Alan began. “The only way I clawed through life was by sinful victories. And it did not matter what brutal action I had to take in order to achieve it, to ensure, one more day of survival. Coin is all that matters when one is born in a world that distinguishes title and noble blood. And you can make a lot of coin if you’re willing to do what it takes—especially in the elite towns.”

Wolfram’s eyes widened. He had heard long ago in one of Gwendal’s news of the distant human towns, of an explosion of aristocratic deaths, and the fast downfall of their values and property mysteriously gone. It seemed very unlikely for one man—especially one of low station (a human, even) to have committed such an act. Yet it would explain how he acquired such immense fortune… 

“What do you mean if you’re ‘willing to do what it takes’?” Wolfram asked. “What have you had to do?”

“I’ve had to take advantage of others. Learned to ignore my conscience, put my own interests above anyone else. And above all, care for no one but myself.” Alan’s voice was eerily soft and calm. “I’m nothing like the gentleman you thought I was, am I?”

Wolfram shook his head at Alan’s every word. Everything he was just told--it was only a façade of the man he came to know! It all seemed unreal. Wolfram turned his face to his hands, concealing the unhappiness there.

It cannot be true! He didn’t want to believe it, but there it was. 

“How could you have betrayed me this way? After all I’ve given you!” Wolfram exclaimed, raising his face to look at Alan, eyes burning red with unshed tears as the pain on his back was the proof—the reminder—of everything this man truly was. “How could you have done this to me?!”

“I did not want it this way, beloved. I would’ve liked for you never to have known this side of me. And I never wished to hurt you, but I had no other choice.”

Wolfram’s soft gasp came out a sob. “Why?” 

“Because you still choose him, don’t you?” 

Wolfram remained silent as he bravely held Alan’s gaze again. A jolt of unease filled Alan. It seemed Wolfram’s silence was a loud enough answer. 

“You will ALWAYS choose him—I know this now.” Alan turned his face away, pale and shaken. “Wolfram, I love you, but I HATE Yuuri Shibuya more.” 

Wolf swallowed hard at the words. “What will you do then?” he asked, already regretting it, dreading the answer he feared he already knew.

“If I don’t kill Yuuri Shibuya he won’t give us any peace.” 

“No! You’ve gone mad!”

“Yes, mad for you.” Alan leaned forward then, his glowing amber eyes never leaving Wolfram’s wide green ones. “He wants my blood as much as I want his.”

“Don’t do it Alan!” Wolfram cried. “I don’t want anyone to--”

Alan let out a furious roar of frustration. 

“Do you think I give a damn of what you want now?” he asked fiercely, suddenly losing patience as Wolfram’s avid concern for his Yuuri cut through his gentlemanly façade. Alan stood in one swift motion, slamming his palms on the wooden table. “I take what I want and keep what is mine! And you will stay with me here, always! Now, shut it, damn it! And EAT!” 

Alan’s booming voice echoed through the grand vastness of the room as Wolfram sat there staring at him in shock. A helpless, bewildered look passed over his classical features. 

Alan held Wolfram’s stare fiercely, remembering how the blonde melted in his arms, how he opened to their first kiss. How the Mazoku beauty tapped into his own fiery passion when they made love. Yet Wolfram’s face now was not like how he remembered it. All that was left within the green jades were fiery rage.

“No,” Wolfram spat. (He’s had enough of this damn civility!) “I don’t want ANYTHING from you!”

Alan charged forward abruptly, his long strides quickly leading him to Wolfram side.

“What are you doing?!” Wolfram demanded as Alan lifted Wolfram off the dining chair. 

Without a word he made his way up to Wolfram’s room. And once placing the blonde on the bed covers, he said grimly, “Wait here, I’ll bring your dinner. Do not attempt to get up on your own.”

Wolfram waited a few minutes until he felt sure Alan was gone to get out of bed. He was determined to escape even if he had to crawl to do it. Yet, as much as his spirit was willing, his body betrayed him.

Wolfram let out a howled scream as his body plundered to the carpeted floor, his hands had gripped the sheets to lessen his fall but was in vain. The sheets fell in a bundled mess on him and he groaned as the impact of the hard floor made his body pang in a thundering bolt of cold that jolted through his bones. The stinging pain in his back burned and tore at his leg muscles as Wolfram gasped and panted on the floor.

Suddenly, a cold sense of dread fell over him as he realized there was no one outside this land who knew of his predicament—except Miggins, but who knew what had become of her? 

“I told you not to get up on your own.” Wolfram looked up from the floor to see his husband looming over him; Alan had returned and with two Leah’s behind him, one carrying a bed tray of Wolfram’s untouched dinner. “Where would you go? Nowhere.” 

The grim voice sent a cold shiver from his head to his toes—one Wolfram never thought would come from the person he thought he knew well. How wrong he was, how blind, to everything. His fury burst forth, although his body felt differently.

“I don’t care what you say, you odious cad! I refuse to be hidden away like this! I’m not staying here!”

Reaching down, Alan grasped Wolfram from under his shoulders, lifting the lithe prince with ease onto the bed, ignoring the prince’s cries as the sharp movement strained the place between his shoulder blades. The wound on Wolfram’s back was a continued to reminder of Alan’s betrayal, and above all, how it forced him to become fully dependent on Alan…for everything. And he hated it!  
Wolfram groaned softly as one of the Leah’s reached down to pick up the sheets from the floor, and silently made work to tuck Wolfram under the covers again. Her expression free from any emotion, her eyes a glaze of emptiness. It was now obvious this girl was not alive nor dead. And suddenly Yuuri’s and Miggins’ story of Leah’s origin was making sense, if only a bit.  
“You’re insulting me now, darling? Well, at least you have the nerve to say it to my face, unlike others I knew.” Alan said drily, before turning away, marching toward the door.  
“Alan, don’t leave me here!” Wolfram demanded, his heartbeat roaring in his ears as he stared intensely after him.

“The Leah’s have their orders,” Alan called out behind him, his body tense. “They won’t let you go anywhere without my knowing first.” 

Alan closed the heavy wooden door, the sound of the latch locking in place reached Wolfram’s ears. Wolfram was trapped. 

“Let me out of here!” he sobbed from the bed, flaying his fisted hands on the covers. “Alan!”

Behind the door, Alan inhaled sharply, his forehead on the cold, hard, wooden door.

“Forgive me, my dear,” he panted, lips trembling each time Wolfram called out his name in sheer agony. “I want you like I had not wanted any other before you. And I WILL keep you as mine.”

Vow set in place, he spun around, fist balled at his sides, striding with new purpose and jealous rage. “Yuuri Shibuya, you are the only one keeping us apart--no more.”

~*~

It was late evening when Miggins rode toward Shin Makoku lands. The carriage rattled below the cobbled stone roads of the towns. Miggins lifted her head to look out the open window, hands on her lap as she pondered over everything that had conspired that evening—Miggins could not believe it.  
Wolfram was in danger. 

Miggins pressed King Yuuri’s letter to her chest, the last letter she was unable to give Wolfram. Thank the stars she’d had mind to hide it to her person before Master Alan decided to send her away! 

The carriage stopped in a stone courtyard of Yuuri’s castle as two guards at the gate, swords ready and alert at Miggins’ urgent entrance. Miggins spared no time as she hoisted herself out of the carriage, running up to the guards, pale and in panic. 

“I must see the King,” she began. “It concerns Prince Wolfram’s very life!”

Miggins’ message reached Yuuri in his office, and he flew down the steps to the entrance gates, not wanting to believe what he was told, yet it was something he feared would inevitably happen. 

Wolfram was in danger. 

“King Yuuri! Oh, thank goodness!” Miggins rushed to Yuuri’s arms, who in turn held her gently. 

“How is Wolfram?” 

She looked at him with eyes swollen from weeping. “In God’s hands.”

“But he’s alive?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then there’s hope!” He turned to the soldiers at the gate. “Ready my horse—I’m leaving now!”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“You go alone?” Miggins asked in shock. 

“For now. I’ll waste no time waiting for the others. I’ll leave that message with you—excuse me.”

“Your Majesty!” 

Yuuri halted. 

“Already I can tell you do not have Master Irrison’s cruelty, but you are as adamant as he in what you want. And what you think you can achieve. You need reinforcements if you wish to save Wolfram.”

“You’re wrong, ma’am. I do not.”

“Master Alan himself admitted to using Leah to do his evil biddings! There are thirteen of her—she is all Mazoku and still has her powers—" 

“It won’t come to that because right now, like he, I am unwilling to see sense—unwilling to compromise—not this time! I will stop him!”

She was silent at the king’s words--there was truth in them, she recognized that. She watched as he mounted his horse, was given his sword and sheath, and disappeared on the road. 

Yuuri whipped the reins hard, the horse quickening his pace as he inwardly vowed to himself that come what may, he would bring Wolfram home and kill Alan Alberic of Irrison.


	13. The Final Chapter: The Rescue

The Final Chapter: The Rescue

It was in the small hours of the night, between midnight and dawn, when Yuuri rode into Irrison lands. And the journey was the longest one of his life! Yuuri rode straight through with no rest, not even feeling the winter cold, blind to the fresh fallen snow that covered the landscape in beautiful white sheets. His mind was a troubled knot of worry, determination, and anger. If Miggins’ message hadn’t reached him that evening yesterday…

Yuuri shouted at the air. He’d been a fool to wait and now Wolfram was in peril! 

Yuuri jerked his stallion to a slithering stop in Irrison’s courtyard and jumped out of the saddle while the animal still moved. As he rushed across the castle’s bower, his sheathed sword clanged against the stone tiles.

~*~

Alan sat in the dark before a cold dying hearth in his room. He had no wish to sleep in an empty bed. He was angry and frightened. Angry that Wolfram was stubbornly uncompromising (which was understandable) and frightened Wolfram may never again return the love and devotion he once had for him. Alan’s life would be meaningless without Wolfram, but damn, he could live without Wolfram’s love--so long as Wolfram was his alone…forever.

Alan groaned and bowed his face in his hands, stubble covered his jaw and cheeks, eyes dark and sunken in, clothes wrinkled…he was a horror sight to see. He sat for hours and hours that ran by like seconds, going over in his mind what he should do. He refused to lose Wolfram to that Yuuri Shibuya.

“Irrison!”

Alan’s eyes opened. Speak of the devil, he should’ve known Yuuri Shibuya would personally exact his own justice and he knew perfectly well who was the one who told the demon king of Wolfram’s predicament. And in truth, he could not blame Miggins. The demon king’s voice echoed again.

“I demand you release Wolfram!”

Reaching for his sword, Alan made his way out of the castle doors. He walked almost robotically, toward Yuuri with a slow pace. Eyes frozen and skin pale, sword dragging lazily at his side, its sharp tip scraping the stone tiles. And just like Yuuri, with no battle armor.

“Sheath your sword, Irrison! There will be no blood here today—for Wolfram’s sake.” Yuuri said the last words trough gritted teeth. 

Yuuri waited while Alan looked around him, checking to see if Yuuri had any support. Noticing he didn’t, he scoffed. “You come alone? How foolish.”

“I do not need an army to handle one of you…HUMAN,” the Maou growled at the last word, eyes glowing a pitch icy blackness and hair elongating. “Now where is my Wolfram?”

“You think me being human will deter me from fighting to keep what rightfully belongs to me?”

“Wolfram is your prisoner! And you are the devil!” Yuuri pointed a finger at the man. “You will pay for your crimes against every life you sacrificed to gain your wealth!”

Alan’s sword clattered tot the ground, head bowing to his chest as he sighed. “You win, Your Highness…go for him.”

Odd. 

“Where is he?” the Maou asked, watching Alan cautiously, his warm breath coming out in white puffs of clouds. It couldn’t be that easy, could it?

“I left him in the parlor. Up the entrance way, down the double doors of the study.”

Yuuri waited for a moment before sprinting up the castle steps. Only then did Alan raise his head, eyes narrowed, fists balled up. He pulled out the stone beaded dagger hidden on his coat pocket, gripping it as he slowly followed the Maou into the castle.

Yuuri found him there, sitting in front of a blazing fireplace. He gasped, rushing to him, slowly placing his sheathed sword on the ground, his demon counterpart forced back as Yuuri’s morbid desire to see Wolfram overpowered the Maou’s presence. 

“Wolfram,” Yuuri whispered, kneeling in front of the blonde prince. 

Wolfram’s skin was pale and cold, long blonde locks tousled out of place. His twin green jades had lost their radiant light, dark shadows below his eyes, lips chapped and as Yuuri continued his observation, Wolfram also seemed to have lost weight. 

Yuuri didn’t realize the blonde was crying until he saw the glistening of wet cheeks on Wolfram’s face. No sobs, just quiet tears that slipped down his pale face and the sight broke his heart as guilt settled in once again. Wolfram suffered so much because of that man. And Yuuri had to admit Wolfram’s suffering was partly his fault as well.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri told him pitifully. “I doomed you to this fate.” 

Reaching up, Yuuri caressed Wolfram’s soft golden locks, which have grown well past Wolfram’s shoulders, pulling them back gently behind his ears.

“He’s hurt you much, didn’t he?” he finally brought himself to ask. Only Wolfram’s eyes moved to look at him, his voice raspy and low. And weak.

“Yuuri…how did you know to come? How—”

“Later. I came to get you out of here,” Yuuri said, standing and carrying Wolfram in his arms, gently and with no rush so as not to cause the blonde any more pain. “I’m taking you back home with me.”

Home. 

The tears came to Wolfram’s eyes then, spilling down his cheeks, weak fingers fisting Yuuri’s shirt as he rested his face onto the clothed chest. Yuuri came for him; came to take him home. Whatever doubt left in Wolfram regarding Yuuri’s love for him was gone now. Never again would he question Yuuri’s devotion to him. He had been grateful his love for Yuuri never faded inside his heart.

Wolfram looked up at him then, and Yuuri fixated on those beautiful twin jade jewels he had come to love so much. 

“Yuuri…”

Yuuri couldn’t help it, having Wolfram’s face so close to his like this. 

Suddenly, the Maou’s face was there. His obsidian eyes looking down at Wolfram with such softness, such desire. The demon king leaned in and kissed Wolfram lightly on the lips. The familiar touch of his lips ignited a warm feeling in the pit of Wolfram’s stomach as he returned the Maou’s kiss. Wolfram reached to touch a cheek, grazing it lightly. Gliding thin cold fingers on the Maou’s long black hair. They parted only for an instant to gaze at each other, the Maou holding Wolfram close to him, one hand on Wolfram’s back and the other on the back of Wolfram’s knees. Both panting slightly as the Maou took advantage of Wolfram’s open mouth, his tongue playing with Wolfram’s own—the kiss more fiercely passionate. 

“My king,” Wolfram said between their blazing kiss, pausing with a smack between each word. “I never once stopped loving yo—”

“Neither have I,” the Maou replied, his breath equally hard as he continued devouring Wolfram’s mouth.

“BOTH of you,” Wolfram added, thinking of the Maou’s counterpart, Yuuri, whom he also came to love. Both who equally have giving him so much all these years.  
No one had time to react, except Alan, who took advantage of the distraction between the two lovers who, in the heat of their reunion, were completely unaware of his approach. Alan lounged at Yuuri, placing all his strength, plunging the beaded dagger to Yuuri’s back. The magic in the stones glowed a fierce red as the Maou’s Mazoku powers lighted his body like lighting. 

Crying out, the Maou’s features changed quickly to Yuuri’s human one, his strength leaving him as Yuuri fell to his knees with Wolfram still in his arms.

“No! Yuuri!” Wolfram screamed in renewed fear. And despite all this, Yuuri made sure he did not let Wolfram fall violently out of his arms as he sank to the ground with Alan’s weight still on his back. 

“Wolfram is mine!” Alan hissed, pulling the magic dagger from Yuuri’s body. In that horrible moment, everything went still, only Wolfram’s sobs were heard as Yuuri closed his eyes, his body clashing limp, his head falling on Wolfram’s chest. 

“Yuuri!” Wolfram closed Yuuri’s face between his palms. “Yuuri!” 

Wolfram’s weak fingers barely moved Yuuri’s cold still body as Wolfram tried in vain to shake Yuuri awake. With no response, he snapped his head to look at Alan, his eyes wet and burning fierce and lips trembling. “How could I have ever loved someone like you—you monster!” 

“I can live with you hating me, Wolfram,” Alan stated, lifting the prince by his arm, leaving Yuuri’s body on the ground, limp and unmoving. “But I will not allow you to return to him. Never!” 

Then, Alan’s mouth was on his--Wolfram scrunched his face in disgust. He tightened his lips in rage as he struggled in vain as Alan continued to press a forced kiss to the prince’s lips. It was a mess of saliva and clenched teeth as Alan sought to open Wolfram’s mouth. Wolfram yanked their mouths apart with audibly with an obscene pop, his head snapping to the side.

“You are mine!” Alan whispered fiercely, then turned to two of the Leah’s, who had stood quietly watching just a few feet from them while all this transpired. “Kill him.”

“No!” 

Like dolls coming alive, Leah’s nails grew sharp, grey eyes reddening like the beaded stones on the dagger. Both maids walking in a haunting motion toward Yuuri’s unconscious body. 

“Yuuri!” Wolfram screamed, flinging his arms as Alan held him in place. Amidst the struggle, the magic beaded dagger fell from Alan’s hand, dropping to the ground. “Yuuri!”

“Shut it!” Alan gripped Wolfram tight by the shoulders. His anger and jealous rage burst as he barreled a fist hard on Wolfram’s diaphragm. Hs body quickly going limp in Alan’s arms. 

Yuuri! Yuuri!

Wolf? 

Yuuri! 

Wolfram’s voice echoed in his head, sounding far at first, then recalling all events, Yuuri suddenly awakened. 

Alan turned to the sounds of shattered water glasses and vases in random rooms, the water that spilled from them came alive--gathering and slithering together in pools on the floor. Alan watched, stunned in place, at the sight as the clear liquid snaked their way to Yuuri’s body. Seeking the wound on his back and healing it. Yuuri’s eyes flashed black and his hair lengthened only for an instant before sustaining his human self. 

Now with enough strength Yuuri rose to stand. He was grateful that all the years of sword training had strengthened his arms, molded his torso and back to a warrior’s build, no longer that of the cherubic child he had been. And seeing this, all thirteen maids lounged at him from all sides. In an instant the blue water lashed at them like a whip tossing them all in one swift motion. 

Yuuri straightened his back, arching his neck to the ceiling as he slowly felt himself coming together again as the wound on his skin at last healed completely.  
“How is this possible?” Alan cried. The magic in the dagger had not worked!

Chest heaving, Yuuri turned and locked eyes with the man, who had been watching with wide eyes. The energy surrounding Yuuri’s body pulsed with blue light, crackling like lightning, tousling his short hair around his face. 

So, this is the true demon king, Alan thought, his face full of hatred. 

Yuuri realized that as the water faded, he could hardly feel his Maryoku. It was there, yes, only weakened, as if asleep. The healing process must have taken more energy out of his majutsu than he thought. That meant using his majutsu would be futile.  
Damn.  
He would have to rely on ground combat skills, but he wasn’t going to voice this fact. Not in front of the Irrison man. 

No matter, the Maou thought, as he looked down to see all the maids scattered unmoving around the room. Then, his eyes quickly sought Wolfram and found him lying on his back on the ground, golden hair covering his face, coughing and twisting his body in pain.

Heart in throat, Yuuri growled fiercely. Only his eyes changing black as he turned snake-like eyes to Alan. “What have you done?!”

Alan’s answer never came.

With no time to react, Yuuri gripped Alan’s collar and with ease tossed the man outside, away from Wolfram. There was no presage of sympathy from Yuuri as Alan stumbled down the short stone steps, the snow softening his fall, the demon king watching while he descended the stairs, step by languid step.

The sound of horse hooves reached the Yuuri’s ears. Only his coal colored eyes looked up to see Murata charge in with his horse. They locked eyes and without a word, Yuuri motioned with his head as if saying, “Wolfram’s inside.”

Nodding to the unspoken order, Murata climbed down his horse, swiftly dashing past Yuuri on the steps just as the man Irrison began to stand. Yuuri, who had grabbed his sword on his way out the castle doors, now pointed to Irrison’s sword which still lay upon the stone courtyard next to the man. 

“Raise your sword, Irrison! This ends now!”

“YOU! You ruined everything!” Alan blamed, reaching for his sword and clumsily standing, his hair a horrid tangled mess; all fair and gentlemanly expression gone from his face. “None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t interfered! Mark my words: Wolfram belongs to me!”

Hearing the words, the Maou surfaced, changing Yuuri’s physical features.

“Mark MY words, human,” he growled, raising the sword with both hands and marching toward the man. “I let Wolfram go twice because I was too foolish, but there won’t be a third time as long as I breathe!”

Alan scowled, raised his own sword and lounged at Yuuri roaring furiously.

~*~

Fear curled into a tight knot around Wolfram’s heart as he heard the thundering clang of swords, the hard breathing, the shouts—the familiar sounds of battle taking place outside. 

Wolfram willed his legs to move yet, as much as he tried, they did not respond. If it weren’t for that blasted ache on his back where the dagger wounded him he--- 

“Ahg!” he cried, slamming his fist weakly on the carpeted floor. Just then, footsteps reached his ears and Wolfram lifted his head, eyes wide as the sound of running feet echoed in the hallway, coming close to where he lay. 

“Bielefelt!”

“Murata!” Wolfram shouted his name as loudly as he could. Murata turned startled brown eyes on him. He ran toward the blonde Mazoku, lifting him gently as Wolfram put his thin arms around the Sage’s neck, leaning his weight against the hard, warm security of Murata’s chest. 

“Irrison land is not that bad, Bielefelt,” Murata said lamely, his face hard and serious. 

How dare you make a joke of this? Wolfram’s previous self would’ve hollered at Murata, yet knowing the Sage was only trying to ease the tension of the situation at hand, he let it go. He ignored Murata’s remark with a mix of a scoff and a groan as the ache on his back returned. Wolfram’s legs trembled as he stood in place and if it wasn’t for Murata’s firm hold around his waist and shoulder, he would’ve fallen to the ground again. 

“Take me to him, Murata,” Wolfram demanded urgently, griping the Sage’s thick cloak. “Please!”

“It’s too dangerous,” Murata answered calmly, his voice low as he looked into Wolfram’s pale green eyes. “You best stay here where it’s safe. Sir Gwendal is on his way here, too, and--”

“No!” Wolfram cried, shaking his head. “I need to go to Yuuri!” 

“What can you do, Bielefelt?” Murata stared at Wolfram with equal defiance. “Look at you—you’re on the edge of death! I need to heal you!”

~*~

It has been too long since Yuuri last carried his sword in battle, yet his body suddenly recalled the instinct of sword fighting as he and Alan charged at each other again. 

Yuuri’s stomach churned with fear, as it always did when he rode into any form of battle, yet his mind remained focused, cold and resolute on what he had to do. Distraction always had a fatal outcome. Not today. 

Sweat ran down his face, his breath cold, hard and sharp as he took the winter air into his burning lungs, his sword arm screamed with each effort he made to keep fighting but fight on he did. He thought of Wolfram and all the wrongs he knew he did to him when he had the chance to make him happy, to make him his. And he had failed miserably. Tears of anger and grief stung his eyes, as he promised himself this time would be different, and this gave him determination. He would not die here! He would not die at the hands of this human! 

Raising his sword high above his head, Yuuri charged toward Alan again with renewed conviction and a battle cry of rage.

~*~

Neither spoke as Murata used his Maryoku to heal Wolfram of the cursed pain on his back. Wolfram’s mind was a jumbled mess of anxious worry, forcing himself to be patient, knowing once he was healed, he could go to Yuuri himself and--

“I can’t heal this…” Murata said, beads of sweat running down his temple.

“What--Why?!”

“I don’t know—there’s some strange magic at work here and I can’t seem to—”

“Forget it, then!” Wolfram clung to Murata’s dress robe again, lifting himself from the floor with weakened legs as Murata gripped the Mazoku prince by the waist again. “I’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Shibuya wouldn’t want you out there,” Murata protested even as he helped Wolfram already making his way to the castle’s front entrance.

“If I could just—”

“Young, sir!” Miggins voice suddenly echoed through the empty halls, pausing and shocking both Wolfram and Murata.

“Miggins?!” Wolfram cried, his eyes searching for her face, and Miggins appeared just around the corner of the parlor. Breath heavy, cheeks pale, eyes wide. Relief flooded her features as she saw Wolfram alive and well…to an extent. She rushed to him in an instant, a smile on her face.

“Oh, thank your lucky stars! You’re all right, young sir!” Wolfram’s eyes misted as Miggins cupped his face between her soft weary hands. “I feared you gone…” she added, her own eyes glazing with unshed tears.

Wolfram sighed deeply. Miggins was alive, she was here and alive. “So did I.” Wolfram whispered, leaning into the motherly touch. 

“If she’s here,” Murata said softly, “Then, that must mean that Sir Voltaire---"

~*~

With a cry of battle rage, Yuuri swung his sword—strength renewed-- bearing down the sharp, heavy blade down on Alan, yet the man raised his own sword to meet his with a clanging sound. The man was no match for the Maou’s strength and skill and soon fell beneath Yuuri’s final blow. Alan’s sword clanged to the stone tiled ground, the impact forcing the blade a good distance away from the stunned man. Glancing up, Alan’s eyes met Yuuri’s black ones. At that moment the sun rose; its light blazing a furious glow behind the Maou. In this light, Yuuri looked fierce, angry, and unforgiving as he strode forward, towering over him.

Yuuri raised his sword high, pointing the sharp edge to Irrison heart, looking into the man’s amber eyes. And paused. Only their breaths the only sound, hearts pounding in unison. And then, nothing mattered, not Irrison crimes or his sins seemed enough for Yuuri to infuse this cold-blooded justice. In the heat of his anger, he had vowed to kill this man, yet--

Lowering the sword, Yuuri sighed, head bowed in resignation. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take a life…

“All the power in the world,” Alan hissed as he slowly took out a small hidden blade from his boot. “And still so weak.” 

Dagger in hand, Irrison lounged at Yuuri, yet the sound of a gunshot echoed in the wind, and Irrison fell to the ground, clutching at his chest, dagger clanging at his side. Yuuri turned to see Gwendal, arm stretched, finger on the trigger and a black metal gun in his hand. His face was cold, eyes sharp, and lips tight in a firm line.  
Murata, who still held Wolfram in the safety of his arms, loosened his hold as Wolfram slowly walked to the fallen man. They had reached the front entrance at last, just in time to see the ending of the battle in front of them. 

Everyone watched as the prince knelt beside him, Irrison gasping for breath as blood stained his clothes. Irrison looked upon the green jades he had come to love so much, his own misting as feeling of regret and humiliation filled him. He never wished for Wolfram to see the pitiful man he’d become…to the very end. 

“I’m sorry,” Alan whispered. “Please, forgive m—” Alan coughed, his mouth already filling in blood.

“Shh,” Wolfram hushed, his fingers trembling on Alan’s chest, just over his wound. 

“I fear my reputation is in shreds…it’s been that way since long ago, I fear.” Alan brushed a calloused hand across Wolfram’s golden locks. “I…I will miss you.”

Wolfram captured the hand, tears trembling in his lashes. “Alan, you erased my loneliness…healed me when I was broken (sniff) allowed me the chance to love again when I feared it lost…”

Alan sighed at Wolfram’s confession. It sounded sincere, he knew Wolfram meant it, too. He could feel it. It relieved his sadness a bit. 

“It seems I must learn a new skill after I’ve gone from this world.”

Wolfram sniffled. “And what is that, m’lord?”

Eyes beginning to droop, Alan smiled sadly. “I must learn to be alone again…without you this time.”

Wolfram tears fell down his cheeks as Alan’s eyes finally closed, his breathing stopped, and body turned cold. The man he had touched and loved was gone. And Wolfram would do well to forget he had ever existed, just not this moment. Not right now. 

Alan Alberic of Irrison was dead.

Suddenly, Wolfram’s fingers went through Alan’s body, like mist as the man began to fade away. 

“What’s happening?” Wolfram gasped as Gwendal pulled Wolfram away with gentle haste from the disappearing man. Everyone watched the strange occurrence before them, and even Miggins also looked about her as one by one the bodies of Leah also faded into nothing. 

Miggins looked up at the sky and closed her eyes as her heart burst with sadness. It’s for the best, she told herself. It is and always was too dangerous for me to allow any of you to live. Surrender yourself, my daughter. And be at peace.

On the ground, the magic dagger with the stones cracked in silence and at last forgotten.

Wolfram gasped, arching his back as a blue light glowed on his back, quickly fading just as swiftly as it came.

“Wolfram—”

“It’s gone!” he said, pushing himself from Gwendal’s embrace as he felt the pain on his back leave him. Concentrating, heat radiated from his palms, then a small flame burned brightly before him. His strength has returned. And his Maryoku with it. He was healed!

“Whatever dark magic Irrison used on the beaded stone dagger, was connected to him.” Gwendal explained, as Yuuri slowly approached him and Wolfram. “And everything else that faded away. Including himself.” 

Gwendal recalled that after Yuuri left so suddenly with Murata following quickly afterward, the man who they were interrogating also mentioned Irrison having connections with a dark witch of sort. In order for the magic dagger to work Irrison had to make a pact—if he would ever come to die the dagger would destroy itself, restoring all strength back to its victims. Leah was also part of this pact, which was the reason she faded as well. Her body was only kept alive with the magic of that beaded stone dagger.

“Wolfram…?” Yuuri whispered, looking at Wolfram. He hesitated to go to the blonde beauty at first, but then stepped into a run when Wolfram smiled weakly at him, his green eyes glistening. Yuuri’s heart soared. “Wolfram!”

“Yuuri…” Wolfram sighed, raising is arms wide open as Yuuri dashed to him, sword clanging to the floor. Yuuri caught the blonde prince against him, twirling him in the air for a few seconds, then burying his face in Wolfram’s hair, breathing in the sweet smell there. 

Wolfram leaned against him, nuzzling his cheeks against Yuuri’s hard chest as Yuuri held him tightly. His breath fogging around him, eyes red rimmed as the warmth from Yuuri’s body covered him, Yuuri’s heartbeat strong and pounding against Wolfram’s ear. Wolfram wound his arms tight around Yuuri’s narrow waist, sighing deeply; the cool morning breeze sweeping over the wisps of thin mist from the snow-covered land. 

It was peace, a peace Wolfram and Yuuri both welcomed adamantly, like a long-lost friend at last returning. Wolfram pushed himself from the embrace only to cup Yuuri’s dirty face between his palms.

“Yuuri,” Wolfram said again, his voice soft and weary. “Take me home?”

“Home,” Yuuri repeated. 

“Yes, you need to rest.” Gwendal agreed, making his way to his horse.

As do I, the Maou’s voice echoed in his thoughts, at last satisfied Wolfram was once again his. I’ve endured all I can for one day…

Yuuri smiled as the Maou faded into sleep. Grateful his body no longer fainted like that in his youth, he was confident of the strength he gained throughout the years.  
Watching the reunion from across them in the inner bailey, Murata sighed in tremendous relief, the weight of all this conundrum finally fading from his weary shoulders.

“Thank God,” he muttered and made his way to the carriage Gwendal brought with him. He rubbed his tired eyes and then spoke to the couple from there. “We’re ready when you are, Shibuya.”

Yuuri looked down at Wolfram in his arms, who nodded fervently. Yuuri smiled. 

“All right, let’s go.”

~*~

“The sun rose, at last, to clear away the darkness that fell upon us since the start of our story. Evil was defeated and Wolfram and I were together again. Wolfram was finally home. We married, had a grand celebration and traveled both worlds for a while. Then came you two.” 

Yuuri looked down to the two tots he held in his arms. His twin sons looked up at him smiling widely. Both with golden blonde locks, bright green eyes and rosy cheeks. They giggled, flapping their pink nighties wildly, encouraging Yuuri to continue the story. 

Yuuri remembered the day Wolfram received Murata’s gift—the pink nightie he had made personally for Wolfram’s first born that matched his. It amused the blonde and everyone else present. Yet, it came to a surprise to all when Wolfram birthed two babes instead of one, and so Murata made quick work on making another nightie for the other twin. 

Yuuri kissed each baby head in turn, sighing contently. “My beautiful jewels.”

“Again, daddy! Again!” both twins cried, wiggling in his arms. Wolfram, who had walked in only seconds before this let out an exasperated sigh.

“Oh, no, you two,” he said, before taking the toddlers from Yuuri’s arms and carrying them away to their nursery room. “Time for bed.”

Just as Yuuri began unbuttoning his shirt to settle for the night, Wolfram’s voice came from the bedroom door.

“Yuuri, you wimp! You were supposed to put them to sleep, not keep them up!”

Dismissing Wolfram’s accusation with a light laugh, he turned toward him saying, “I couldn’t say no—they were so persistent and so cute…just like you.”

Wolfram advanced on him unexpectedly and cornered Yuuri against one of the walls. 

“And how does the story end?” Wolfram asked with a small smile tweaking the corner of his lips. 

“Well,” Yuuri murmured, puling Wolfram close to him by the waist, before leaning down to kiss him. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

An intense feeling burrowed deep inside Yuuri in that kiss. Enduring feelings he knew would continue until he died, burst out of him in words simple and abiding. 

“I love you, Wolfram,” he said. Those words…he had lacked courage to say out loud before. Never again would he be silent about his feelings for Wolfram.  
He stared at Wolfram expectantly, tracing Wolfram’s features with his fingertips.

“What is it?” Wolfram asked softly, concern apparent in his face at Yuuri’s strange silence. 

“You’ve given me more happiness than I have a right to and I’m just grateful for this second chance with you,” Yuuri whispered. “And I promised myself this time to show you every day for the rest of my life…”

“Show me what?”

Yuuri pulled Wolfram flat against him, locking him in his arms. “Everything I couldn’t tell you.”

Moved by his words, Wolfram rested his head against Yuuri’s beating heart, a content smile on his face. 

~FIN

Author’s Note: 

To all faithful Readers,  
I hope you enjoyed my first FF about Yuuri and Wolfram, I know I enjoyed writing their love story.  
The historical romance aspect of it was unintended yet I knew it was going to be a challenge once I decided on it.  
I am grateful to all those who took the time to read this—I know I look forward to what I will come up with next. See you on the next one.

~isisyaoi

*P.S*  
The story Everything I Couldn’t Tell You was inspired by the 2005 horror film Crimson Peak directed by Guillermo Del Toro.  
Music Inspiration by Audiomachine--Album: Chronicles


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